


The Rise of the Future King

by SherlockMalfoy



Series: Wips on hiatus [6]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: BAMF Future Arthur, Canon Compliant Until Uther Dies, Druid Arthur, F/M, Future Arthur Centric, Immortality, M/M, Merthur Is Endgame, Mostly Camelot Era, Past Life Memories, Prophecy, Reincarnation, Time Travel, Warrior Druids, doppleganger, dystopia future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 58,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22625404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: In a land of myth, and a time of magic... the destiny of all mankind rests on the shoulders of one time displaced reincarnated king. His name... Arthur.
Relationships: Future Arthur Pendragon & Original Female Character, Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Wips on hiatus [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628194
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28





	1. The Future of the Once King

Time.

Time is not kind.

Great deeds are done, but lapse into the footnotes of history over time. History, once it begins to lose its meaning and under the ravages of the ages becomes myth. All things, all men, become stories, and very few become legends larger than that which created them.

None knew this better than a man who lived alone near Glastonbury Tor.

The Tor had quite a legend built around it. Those many myths claimed it to be the site of the ancient lake that guarded the gateway to Avalon. It was, however, but one of two such gateways. It was the largest by far, but it was not THE lake of Avalon. It was A lake of Avalon.

Only this singular man remembered what lay at the center of the lake. What lay beneath its waters. For it was here, in ages past, that the Tor was once a temple of what the people of the times called the Old Religion. For the Tor sits upon a place called the Isle of the Blessed. The one place of power remaining of such strange and dangerous times.

And it is beneath the waters between the shore and the Tor where the man who inspired the legends of Camelot lay. Waiting. Healing. Guarded by the Lady of the Lake, and with the promise to the lonely man that one day the greatest king to have ever lived would rise again when Albion needed him most.

This was, in fact, a misinterpretation.

Prophecy... is a cruel thing. Nearly as cruel as time. For time, when bent and shaped in certain ways, can be very forgiving and in fact, helpful. It can heal wounds and souls alike. But a prophecy defied is like a dragon, breathing fire and leaving destruction in its wake. Or, a cranky toddler at naptime. Smaller in stature but equal in power and destruction.

And this man, while generally following the prophecy that he was given, defied it time and again. He did not kill those necessary to ensure the future that was meant to happen came to pass. In the end, the greatest kingdom in all of Albion fell and the light that burned bright in the hearts and minds of men, leading them to an enlightened age, was snuffed out and magic began to truly leave the world.

For his defiance, this man was punished. Cursed to live alone, to wait for the day of his king's return rather than a reward of rest and rejuvenation. For had he followed the prophecy, had he done what was asked of him, the goddess would have cradled him to her bosom and allowed him to sleep through the ages until his king would rise again. His magic... and his mind refreshed and ready to bring magic back to a world that lost it to Time.

Loss after loss.

War after terrible war.

The kings and queens of Albion falling one by one to foreign invaders. Enslavement of her peoples. The slaughters of the druids. The forced conversions to the New Faith of the One God... or face death by whatever means were at hand.

And each time the man begged. He pleaded. And as he took up arms he prayed that the gods would hear him and see their struggle. That they would see fit to return the king now in the times of Albion's need.

And yet... the waters of the lake were silent.

Years became decades. Decades centuries.

A thousand years and then more.

Each time the man begged. Each time the man pleaded and bargained and would even offer himself in exchange if only the gods would send the king back to his land to help them. To save them.

When the Great War came, the man took up arms again, and before being shipped to a place he now called Europe, he did everything he could think of to appease the Sidhe before departing. And yet during the long years of war in the trenches, the king never came.

When the next war came to the world, one that in time would come to be called simply World War 2, the man did not beg. He did not pray. He did not make sacrifices of appeasement. His faith, at last, began to wane. And with it the dying of his hope. He fought, as he always fought. He died a few times as well.

Upon his return to the land once called Albion, he had glanced at the Tor in Glastonbury and packed up his belongings.

Decades passed, and with them he allowed himself to grow old. To age with them. With each passing year his hope continued to die and his faith diminished. Instead, his thoughts turned inward. Towards his anger and his frustration and what he perceived to be his greatest failures. So he traveled the world, seeking out anything and everything that may help him. And with this turn of thoughts, came the Darkness. The same Darkness that had consumed so many a sorcerer before him. The same Darkness that had been turned against his king and his people and took everything that the man once held more dear than his own life.

And with the Darkness came the obsession that was his madness.

He was, in his heart, still a good man. An honest man. He had refused to change who and what he was so that he may honor his king's final words and dying wish. That he never change. That he always be himself. But time brings experience and experience can do nothing but change men's minds and thoughts.

As the man who had once been called Merlin of Ealdor stood in a classroom, old and tired, watching the television he had turned on for the students in his history class at the dictation of the school's principal on the loudspeaker, he made a simple decision.

The world was going to once more be plunged into war. And he knew for certain that the powers that be would not return his king to him. So there was only one thing left to do. He would do as he felt he should have done, and take matters into his own hands.

If they would not give Arthur Pendragon back to the world willingly, then he would plunge the world into the bloodiest, most destructive war he could and force them to give him back to him.

The following day it was reported that the simple History teacher, Mr. Emmet, had died in a house fire.

Merlin, having given into the Darkness that had consumed his magic and his soul, and the madness that clouded his mind, set off for the middle east. He had a lot of work to do.

**o0o**

Fifteen years after America began its war on Terror, the waters of Avalon stirred. Not the lake around Glastonbury Tor, but rather the smaller lake. Hidden now even from the great Merlin himself. A woman met with the last remaining creatures of magic, the Sidhe. She held in her hands a torn red cloak and a sword forged in a dragon's breath.

As Merlin whispered in ears of the glory of victory and the spoils of war, the Lady of the Lake and the Sidhe came to a decision.

Destiny had broken so completely, so utterly, that now there was no way to avoid the end of all things. While a global war was always inevitable, war was not the purpose for which the threads of fate were spun. It was the aftermath in which the greatest need had always waited for the man who would see humanity through. It was in the wastelands that magic would return and flourish and revive the land. King Arthur was meant to rise again and lead the survivors into a new age, with Merlin at his side to feed magic back into the land. To revive the fields and forests. To ensure the last of humanity thrived and grew to repopulate the world in peace and plenty.

But such a destiny now was impossible to accomplish.

"The world in which he was needed no longer exists. If we were to release him now and send him back into the world as he is, he cannot survive without Emrys at his side."

"So what is it you suggest, water witch?"

"I am no mere water witch, you blowhard of a pixie. I speak for the Goddess and for the Old Religion."

"You could BE the damnable Goddess herself and I'd still call you a useless water witch."

_**"ENOUGH!"** _

The waters of the lake of Avalon churned and frothed in her anger, and then, just as quickly subsided. "It has been decided by the Goddess that to save us all, Time must be rewritten and the ancient king made new. With new form, a new destiny may be spun. A destiny that can be shaped and woven to correct the great mistakes that Emrys made in defying the will of the Goddess."

"And what of the old form? What of the body to which we cling, keeping it alive until the time is right?"

"The sword is the key. For Arthur can only be killed by such a blade as this. You will wrap him in the cloak and we will give him his rites. Once his soul is free and untethered, the Goddess wills that he be born anew, born as he should have been had Uther's desperation not led him to Nimueh."

And so it was decided in Avalon that Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot and savior of humanity would finally die.

And in the year 2014 a child was conceived by a data entry specialist and a Royal Marine in Aberdeen.

**o0o**

In the summer of 2015, Arthur Bradley Pendleton was born to Irene and Wulfric Pendleton. He was rather large, hearty and healthy with a very powerful set of lungs.

Had Merlin not succumbed to the madness and the darkness, he would have felt the ripple of a new and powerful being of magic entering the world. He would have felt the rebirth of his beloved king.

But he had, and he could not.

**o0o**

World War 3 began in January of 2020.

Iran had attacked an American embassy. So America used drones to bomb a place in Iraq where one of Iran's most famous generals had been sighted.

The world was plunged into war less than a week later.

Arthur Pendelton was 4 years old, due to turn 5 that summer.

He would be 7 when his mother receives word that his father has died in battle.

He would be 12 when the skies are scorched and the middle east is finally turned to glass.

He would be 15 when the war finally ends. There are no winners. The world is in ruins. And still, the sun has not been seen in years. A new calendar began to be used. The year 2030 became known as Year Zero.

Governments fall. Small dictators rise and there is little anyone can do about it if they simply want to survive.

The world population before the war sat at over 7 Billion. After?...

World War 3, and Merlin's machinations, killed off three billion people. Destroyed the planet's ecosystem. Made the air barely breathable. Killed much of the animal life before the flora of the planet had even died off.

And yet, to Merlin it seemed not to be enough. For Avalon, to his knowledge, had still not given back his king.

**o0o**

Arthur Pendelton was 18 years old when he was conscripted into what remained of Great Britain's military in Year 3. With the collapse of government, rule had returned to the royal family. And King William did everything he could to hold what was left of his country together.

Irene begged him not to go. Begged her son to come with her and flee the country. They could change their names. Claim they had survived the bombardment of Washington. They could sell firewood to survive. Anything to keep her son from the same cruel fate that had taken his father from her.

But Arthur refused. He kissed his mother, picked up his bag, and he left to do his duty.

It would be the last time Arthur saw his mother.

She would die before his next birthday, taking her own life rather than allowing the men who broke into her home to use her as they wished.

**o0o**

Year 5 saw Arthur at age 20 ill equipped for an event that would mark the beginning of the end of the world.

The skies were torn asunder as large winged beasts made of rotted flesh and bone soared through the pitch black atmosphere. The dead rose from their graves to stalk and hound the living, becoming known simply as the Hoarde. It was as if every human nightmare were coming true. From the forests came beasts of myth and from the depths of the ocean came the leviathans and the krakens - all hungry for flesh and bone and mankind's fleets of ships. The seas and rivers ran red with blood as men, women, and even children fought for survival against the evil that rose from the Darkness.

For five years Arthur fought. For five years he clawed his way through the world trying to survive. And after five years, the unthinkable happened.

Captain Arthur Pendleton fell in the Battle of Bath, sacrificing himself so that others may live to fight another day.

And as the shadows crept in and his vision faded, he heard a voice. Calling him. A woman's voice as unseen arms cradled him. Holding him as he lay dying.

**o0o**

When Arthur woke from his coma three months after the Battle of Bath, he was confused and uncertain. His moans scared the daylights out of the nurse that was tending to him. Gwenyth duLac ran from his room in search of the doctor that had been looking after the coma patients in the underground hospital. When she returned, it was with another nurse and the doctor, her husband Lance.

He was shocked by the familiarity of their faces. Sure, his was a bit too round, and her's not quite round enough. Her hair was lighter than he remembered, and her eyes warmer still. There were laugh lines in her face that he couldn't recall ever seeing before. And then it hit him... he'd never met these people in his life. They were strangers to him and wasn't he meant to be dead? Did everyone make it out of Bath alive?

"We don't know how you did it..." the nurse was saying. "Hell, we don't even know who you are, but you're damn lucky Morgan saw you when he did. You'd be dead otherwise!"

"Morgan?"

The doctor shooed the nurses away, stopping to place a kiss to his wife's temple before she reluctantly left the two men, Lance began his examination of his patient. He asked questions, and was surprised by some of the answers. "Well," he'd said near the end. "Given rest and time, you should be able to sort out your real memories from the rest, princess," he joked. "We'll get you into a room and out of the coma ward before lights out. Until then, try and rest up. I'll send Gwen in to teach you some exercises later so we can get you up and about again."

"Her name's Gwen?" Arthur had said, a tired smile on his lips. "Imagine that. Guenevere and Lancelot fussing over King Arthur himself."

Lance laughed and clasped Arthur on the shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. "I suppose next I should be worried about an old wizard named Merlin turning up at our door. Might have a sword in a stone hidden in his pocket."

"Not his pocket," Arthur said, frowning as more of those strange, familiar memories that weren't slip through. "I'd imagine it would be somewhere closer to Old London or some such. Might have to get King William to give it a go just to be sure his arse should be on my chair."

Arthur would learn a week later that King William, and indeed the last of the Windsors, were dead.

Buckingham was leveled to the ground years before with the Queen and Prince Charles inside, but it was in Kensington Palace where the royal family of Windsor met their end. With sinister graffiti left behind in their blood, supposedly, decrying them all as imposters and usurpers.

**o0o**

Arthur traveled after this. Fighting his way from settlement to settlement. From camp to camp. And in time, he began to accept the strange not-his-memories as something of both a blessing and a curse. He knew the names of many a beast he came across to slay. He recognized the signs of ancient sorcery at work that the world of science and reason had long forgotten.

When the seas boiled, he crossed the wastes, from continent to continent by any means available. Red was the color of his banner as he roamed, just trying to slay as many of the Horde and the blasted hellborn beasts as he could. Trying to save as many lives as possible. He chased stories and hunted myths. He sought answers in the dark about why and how this was happening. Over time he found he was not alone in his quest. Faces more familiar to him than his own surrounded him. Following him into the jaws of hell itself. Names and backgrounds were often different, and sometimes the sex, too. But Arthur would know the Knights that had once served Camelot so faithfully no matter their shape nor the ages. Even Morgan, a priest with a gun and a blasphemous tongue, he knew in his heart of hearts was once a sister in some other fanciful life. Still with a flare for the dramatic, but less hate burdening the soul. Redemption, and a lack of magic, suited Morgana quite well.

In the broken lands that had been America they found Percy and his fiance Gavin, who had once been named Gail.

Eli had come with his cousin Gwen, who followed Arthur because Lance and Morgan refused to let him go out into the wilderness alone. Not after their hospital had been overrun with Horde and Arthur had risked his life to save as many as he could in the chaos.

Leona was found in the Pacific Wastes, fighting even though her feet were encased in concrete and her arm broken. Her hair chopped short but frizzy as a lion's mane. It was easy for Arthur to see Sir Leon's loyalty in her eyes after they had saved her from certain death.

More and more, as they traveled and fought, men and women flocked to the blood stained banner of Arthur. Though in time some would remain behind in small pockets of humanity, vowing to protect them. Vowing to keep the innocents safe for as long as they could. To help them rebuild. To teach them to fight. Anything and everything.

Arthur lost track of the years as they passed, and he could not tell if it was Year 7 or Year 27. His friends, his knights, grew older. Some died along the way.

He lost Gwen and Lance in the Last Stand of Cardiff as they evacuated as many as they could onto the planes and helicopters they were able to find and fix. Lance refused to leave with the refugees. And Gwen wouldn't leave his side.

Using the improvised machine guns mounted to the planes and helicopters, they were able to take down one of the mighty undead dragons that patrolled the skies over what had once been the United Kingdom, the successor state of Albion and Camelot

**o0o**

In Arthur's darkest moments, he longed for Merlin. For his smiling face. For his inexplicable insight and occasional wisdom. Hell, just their banter would take his mind off things for a little while.

Of all the faces familiar yet changed, it was Merlin and Merlin alone that was missing. The one face he still sought in every village. Every settlement. Every refuge. Arthur had to believe he was out there somewhere, reborn as all the others had been.

The alternative was... not something Arthur was willing to entertain.

**o0o**

They were camping in what had been, in the old days, Switzerland. The region was dotted with very defensible bunkers. It was a favorite of the Knights because it meant warm shelter and, if they were lucky to find one that had been untouched by the war and what came after... possibly tins of food. And if Lady Luck herself smiled upon them, the food in the tins would only be slightly spoiled as opposed to potentially hazardous.

A woman came staggering through the trees, climbing up the mountain in desperation, when Gavin and Percy found her half dead and clutching a bundle tightly to her. They had assumed initially she was one of the Horde by the looks of her. It wasn't until they heard her cry out in pain that they realized she wasn't the undead.... She was blind.

Once in the bunker she was given what few rations they could spare, and allowed to rest. As she rested Arthur and Morgan, who after Leona's death the year before had become Arthur's closest knight and advisor, investigated the bundle the woman had clung to so desperately. Upon unwrapping the cloth, Arthur staggered back, feeling a sudden sharp pain in his side. He actually lifted his shirt to check but found no wound. Only faded scar tissue from his miraculous survival at the Battle of Bath. Morgan re-wrapped it, concerned for his friend.

"When she wakes, get her name and find out where she found that sword."

"Arthur what is it?"

"That weapon may have just won us this desperate and terrible war. Guard it with your life."

**o0o**

Her name was Niviene. She had been born on the factory floor. Brought up learning how to work the machines of war. It was just luck that she and a few other girls from the factory were chosen. She told of how she was brought before the Grand Sorcerer - at least that's what the Factory Folk called him. It was, supposedly, a great honor. His servant didn't seem too thrilled to be working for him, and did his best to assure them that they would not come to harm.

"He lied. He looked me right in the eye and he lied to my face. I watched as my sisters were chained in irons and tortured by the Grand Sorcerer with his terrible power."

"How did you escape?"

"The servant came to my cell to tend to me. The Sorcerer liked us... healthy... before he would play his games. The servant would come to us each night and heal us. He would feed us and if needed, bathe us. Not like we could do much with our hands chained together."

Arthur was intrigued. "What did this servant look like?"

"Thin," she said. "Very thin. Like he'd hardly been fed. And... and he had dark hair. A bit shaggy... and he had these eyes. These blue... no.... green. Yes, green eyes... so... so sad. He led me out through a service tunnel, but we got turned around and found ourselves in the Grand Sorcerer's private collection room. He found that sword and dragged me along behind him, killing as many as he could along the way."

She told Arthur and Morgan of their escape into the wilds with the sword. About the villages and settlements that were burned to the ground in pursuit of them. She told how she had become blind by the poisoned water that was given to her and the servant. She had only had a little, but he had been working all day. Had been so very thirsty. So very trusting...

"As he died, he bid me find the man with the blood stained banner. To bring him the Kingslayer sword. That it was the only thing that could stop the Grand Sorcerer in the absence of the great weapon Excalibur."

She never learned the man's name.

And Arthur had no idea what he was going to do with the sword that Mordred had used to kill him with. But the fact it existed meant that his dubious memories-that-weren't were, in fact, true. He had already assumed so, but to have it confirmed? To have solid, real proof leaning against the wall of his room in the bunker? It made things far more real than they had been. It made all those stories and myths he had read at every opportunity about the life and death of King Arthur all the more strange. Some of it was true but others... No one, he realized, had gotten it right.

He thought of Lance and Gwen. Of their jokes about Arthur getting payback for a past life and running off with Lance's wife.

The following morning Arthur made a decision. A sword, in this age, was impractical. But to use the metal, metal that had been subjected to the power of a dragon's breath and with the ability to kill something as all powerful as the Grand Sorcerer... now that was useful. That was something that could be remade into something with a bit more.... kick.

****o0o** **

It took them quite a bit of time, but they made it to the Neo-Austria Federation. A collection of villages under the protection of a warlord that, as it happened, owed a lot to Arthur and his men. Though Cedric wasn't thrilled to have a roaming army camping out in his territory, he couldn't say no. What they lacked in manpower they more than made up for in skill and firepower.

Though he did sing a different tune when Arthur presented him with the sword and a plan.

"All I need is the use of your weaponsmiths, and enough rations for my men and I to reach the Grand Sorcerer's island."

"None for the return trip?"

"There won't be a return trip. Once he realizes what we mean to do, he's going to throw all he's got at us. We only have one shot."

"And if you fail?"

"Then may God help you all because we'll have done all that we can."

**o0o**

It took months of work, but the sword was smelted down. Not a drop of metal went to waste. The leather strapping on the hilt was even recycled, worked into the design. Making the grip just a little more comfortable. The metal had a golden sheen from when it had been cast into the dragon's breath all those centuries ago, and when Arthur held it he could feel that the weapon had not lost its power. It was warm with the same familiar thrum of Excalibur. The thrum of magic, he realized. Upon closer examination of his newly made gun, he could see runes carved into one side. On the other in English was carefully etched into the barrel of the gun, "Vengeance, The Slayer of Kings".

"What's this?" he had asked the weaponsmith.

"Well, if you live... this is my masterpiece innit? Anyone sees that hand cannon, they're gonna want to know where you got it. You're free advertisement. And the best part? It'll take out one of the Horde in one hit. Any part of the body, too. Doesn't need to be a head or heart shot."

"Truly?"

"Truly. Anything fired from that thing'll stop the undead.. well... dead in its tracks. Tested it myself. Just wish I'd known where the metal in that sword came from."

"Magic. The fact you were able to smelt it down in the first place is a miracle."

**o0o**

A miracle, indeed, directed by the hands of fate.

**o0o**

They had fought long and hard to get to this point. Somehow, the Grand Sorcerer had learned of their plan, and word of a Ultimate Weapon had begun to spread. A weapon that was said to be so powerful it would destroy what was left of humanity. Wipe them from the face of the earth.

It only served to make Arthur that much more determined to end this. To kill the bastard that broke the world.

When they had finally made it to the fortress, he had but a handful of men still under his command. The rest had lost their lives in battle.

And now, in the final stretch... There were but a few corridors left between him and his target. A few more corridors left between him and the end of the Darkness. The end of the Apocalypse.

He smelled blood. Could taste it on his tongue. Some of it his own, but most of it not. Most of it was Percy's. Most of it was Gavin's.

Only Morgan remained now.

"No one gets down this corridor. You understand me?"

"Yes sir."

Arthur grabbed him by the shoulders, catching him by surprise. He pressed his forehead against Morgan's aged face. "I know... I know you won't understand this, but you need to hear it. This will probably be the last chance I have to tell you."

"Arthur what-"

"I forgive you. For everything. For father. For taking over the kingdom. For the years of war and the attempts on my life. For turning Mordred against me and Gwen, too."

"Arthur-"

"I forgive you, Morgana. And I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you. That I wasn't the brother you needed me to be."

He was shoved away, and when Arthur got a good look at him he had tears and a brief, if silent recognition in his old eyes. "Go," Morgan said. "Go end this, Arthur. And you come back to me alive."

**o0o**

Time.... slowed. Or maybe it didn't. Maybe it kept going and it was Arthur who sped up.

His heart caught in his throat. His grip tightened on the gun at his side.

The wild haired old man turned from the window of his crooked tower. Fingers sparking with electricity - with magic - as he trailed them across a console. Lights and dials springing to life, powered up and ready to be used.

Arthur knew those calloused hands. He knew those slender fingers. He swallowed, willing himself not to give in. Not to lose his resolve. It was said the man before him could read minds. Pluck an image out of your thoughts and change himself to match it. But try as he might, he could not help but think of Merlin. Of his magic and all the times his servant had saved him without him ever knowing.

"They've set you free at last."

The words were in a language long since dead. But Arthur knew them still. He could not speak it, but listened and knew. Understand, very much so. Even still, he couldn't trust that this is what the man truly looked like. He couldn't trust that it wasn't just a trick to get him off balance. To stop him from doing what he came to do.

The old man turned again, the liver spots on his hands fading and the skin tightening, now coming to face him just as Arthur raised his gun. Gray hair faded, shortening as the beard fell away.

"You're finally here."

Bright blue eyes were filled with tears. "I knew... I always knew I could make them do it."

Arthur swallowed. "Do what?"

"Give you back to me. Now we can save them all."

His heart broke. "You're insane." Years of searching. Years of hoping somewhere, out there...  


And there it was. The goofy smile. But his eyes... they were changed. They hardened as they looked upon Arthur, as if just now registering what it was the man had pointed at him. The smile turned to a snarl. "Mordred..." he grit out, turning away to return to his panel. "That stupid, insolent boy. I saved him! I gave him back his magic! I gave him a home and forgiveness and his memories and this is how he repays me!"

"Merlin, listen to me. You need to stop now. Look at what you've done to us. Look what you've done to the world!"

"I did it all for you!"

"No, Merlin. You did it for you."

"They wouldn't give you back! The world burned and still you wouldn't come! They said you would come! They promised me!"

He did something at the panels that Arthur couldn't see. But he could feel the rumble as it swept the tower.

"Merlin, what are you doing!"

"I'm going to save them. If... If there's no one left, then there's no one to fight. No one to kill. And when... when I'm all that's left, then I'm the only one that could have great need. And then... then you'll see! Then you'll-"

Arthur fired. The recoil from his weapon causing him to stagger back a pace.  


Merlin turned to face him, a hole in his shoulder as he raised a hand, eyes glowing gold. Arthur fired again. And again.  


Merlin dropped.

The tower rumbled. It groaned and the panels went wild - blinking madly before the alarms began to sound. Arthur holstered his gun and ran past Merlin to try and do something, anything. Outside the tower he witnessed the ground open in the distance. Field after field, massive holes in the ground appeared. Slowly metal spires began to rise. "Merlin... what have you done?..."

The doors of the chamber burst open. Arthur took out his gun again, but his ammunition was low. Too low to fight his way out of the advancing Horde.

There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. No hope. No way out.

Save one.

With one final look to the dead body of Merlin on the floor where he crumpled, Arthur made his decision. He'd rather die a free man than become one with the Horde. "Forgive me, Merlin," he said, turning towards the large window and emptying his clip at the glass, trying to weaken it enough to crash through. He backed up as much as he felt he could, then lowered a shoulder and ran, aiming for the cracks in the glass.

The metal spires took flight, carrying their deadly payloads who knew where. Arthur watched them as he fell, the ground rising rapidly to greet him.

**o0o**

Arthur Pendleton, formerly Arthur Pendragon, woke screaming in a hut, clawing at the bandages that covered his body.

The door of the hut burst open, and a woman stood with panic written all over her wrinkled face. She turned away from the door, calling out for someone to fetch her some water and fresh cloths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea came to me while stuck in bed about three weeks ago after reading a slew of Merlin time travel fics. I came to realize that there's so many where Merlin travels back in time to change things and to fix his mistakes, while there's so many of Arthur being reincarnated or rising again in the future. But I had yet to come across one where it's Arthur, reborn or risen it didn't matter, who is sent to the past to fix something. And that just really freaking inspired me.  
> So, here we are.  
> And yes, I feel absolutely fucking AWFUL for what I did to Merlin in this first chapter.
> 
> Also, for anyone that didn't get it, all the knights were reborn along with Morgana, Mordred, and Gwen and here's a list of them.
> 
> Lancelot = Dr. Lance duLac  
> Guenevere = RN Gwenyth "Gwen" duLac  
> Elyan = Gwen duLac's cousin Eli  
> Percival = Percy  
> Gwaine = Gavin/Gail  
> Leon = Leona  
> Morgana = Father Morgan (though only referred to as Morgan)  
> Mordred = Merlin's unnamed servant  
> Nimueh = Niviene


	2. The Long Wait for Destiny

Two weeks passed as Arthur lay in convalescence.

In that time he learned the following: He should be dead but wasn't. Uther still ruled Camelot. He was, somehow, in the past. He couldn't tell anyone his name was Arthur Pendleton, for it was too close to Pendragon. He was found naked in the forest, covered in what appeared to be knife wounds and claw marks, by one of the village children. He was currently in Mercia, under the rule of King Bayard. And the dragon tattoo on his bicep had lent itself to the name bestowed upon him when he feigned amnesia, as the child who saw it while helping her grandmother change his bandages couldn't say dragon right and it came out as _dagon_.

After his two weeks of bed rest, he insisted he do something to help repay the kindness they had shown him. As soon as he was able, he helped the old woman with her cooking. It was, at least, one skill he had managed to learn in his second life that he hadn't had as a prince and then a king. He would help her dry herbs. Or cut vegetables. Anything light duty he could do to help her.

As he grew stronger he began doing more heavy chores. Helping her clean her hut. The moment he was able, he gave up the bed of straw and cloth so she would no longer have to sleep on a bed roll on the floor. Even then, he often lays the bedroll atop it for her, to ease her old joints and he would instead bed down in a chair with his feet propped up and a threadbare blanket.

In time, he was chopping wood for winter. Helping villagers with the harvest. Earning his keep.

The village, he learned, was near enough the main routes of travel in Mercia, and they often got tradesmen and traveling merchants on their way to or from Camelot to the west. From Deira to the north or even Essetir to the south. News was plentiful, which was exactly what Arthur had needed in order to both orient himself as well as figure out what his next move should be.

He spent two years in the village with the old woman until her death upon his third spring. She left him her hut and what meagre coin she had scraped together, intending to buy him new clothes so that he may make something of himself. The old woman's daughter told him that her mother considered him the son she never had.

Arthur knew he could not stay in the village much longer. His nightmares of the future plagued him, keeping him up at night and haunting his daylight hours. He had to do something. Anything to stop such a wicked time from coming to pass. And so, when the opportunity arose, he packed everything that he owned, which wasn't much. He took the coin the old woman had left him and gave his home, furniture and all, to a young couple who had just wed and were living in the young man's parents home.

"A wedding gift to you and your lady, Galahad," he had said. "Every newly wed young man and his wife deserve a place to live alone and raise their children."

"It's too much, Dagon. Far too much! Where will you live? Certainly not the tavern!"

"Old Nan wanted me to one day find out who I am. I can't do that here in Traveler's Fork. I've enough provisions and coin to see me through a while."

"Where will you go?"

"Well... I've got this dragon mark on my arm. Camelot's crest is a dragon. I might find my answers there."

Arthur spent the night in the tavern, working the kitchen in exchange for a room for the night before setting off on his quest early the next morning, armed with only a few knives and his bare hands.

**o0o**

Arthur traveled on foot for days, still in awe of the beauty and majesty of the forests he never thought he'd see again. Hell, even grass was still a novelty to him after so long living in a world of black skies, ash and dust.

Traveling along the main road towards Camelot though, was a lot easier said than done. Bandits were a concern, though at least arrows were slower, most of the time, than bullets. Less accurate, too.

By the time he reached the border of Camelot and Mercia, he'd  _ acquired _ some half-way decent leather armor. A bow and a smattering of arrows, and a dagger that was too nice for a bandit. He figured it must have been stolen from a lord or at least a well funded knight.

And yet, as he took his first few steps into the land of Camelot, he found himself outnumbered and outgunned so to speak. Painted faces and fiery red hair was all that stood between Arthur and his changed destiny.

"We've been expecting you, Arthur Pendragon."

He was disarmed quickly and captured, with a bag over his head.

**o0o**

It was well after dark when Arthur was allowed to see where he was.

"A druid grove?!"

"Aye. We've an elder been waiting her whole life to meet you, your highness. It took you long enough to come out of hiding."

"I'm not who you think I am. I'm just a traveler. My mother died and I thought if I went to Camelot I could find honest work."

"As what? They've already got a king. A prince as well. Real pretty, that prince," his captor said, stroking his cheek with the back of their hand. "Young, too. Not even yet a man, from what I hear. Untouched if the rumours are true."

Arthur turned his head quickly and bit the hand that touched him, causing his captor to draw back and spit on him angrily.

"Brig that will be enough."

Arthur looked towards a clicking sound to find an old woman with a walking stick. She used it to tap the stones beneath her feet.

"Unbind him. I'll not have our honored guest treated as a common criminal when he has done nothing to warrant it."

"He damn well did. He bit me!"

"And you probably deserved it, daughter!" the old woman snapped viciously. Arthur was, if anything, surprised.

"That's a woman!?"

"Aye, your majesty. Forgive her. She's a wild one. Like all the children of iron and fire."

**o0o**

After Arthur's release, he found he was still in Mercia, but further north than he had been. Further away from Camelot. The old woman was a Seer for this band of not-quite-peaceful druids. Not the oldest of the elders, but old enough to have the respect of the younger generations.

At first Arthur was angry at his treatment and that he'd been captured at all. He demanded that he be allowed to leave, for he had a quest to complete.

All that stayed his feet was the old woman's words over a flagon of mead and a meagre meal of bread and dried meat.

"We'll not stop you, Arthur Pendragon. But if you walk out of this grove tonight, the seas will boil and the skies in everlasting darkness will swallow the sun. Ash will choke the earth and Emrys will summon the Horde."

"What do you know of the Horde?"

"I know that the dead will rise and hunger for living flesh and nothing will stop them until the world is broken by the man meant to stand at your side and help you save it. The gods have seen fit to give you a new path. A new destiny. But there cannot be two Kings of Camelot. There cannot be two of Arthur Pendragon."

"Pendleton then."

"No. A new life. A new name. A new path to your destiny."

**o0o**

Arthur would take time to think it over. He would speak with the old woman, whom the druids called Mother Spindle for she was always weaving despite her blindness. She would reveal to him the visions of the dark and terrible future that had made her gouge out her own eyes as a young woman, unable to take the visions of battle and blood any longer. She told him of the visions that began three years prior, telling of a way to change the future for the better. Showing her what she needed to do to help build a new and brighter world.

In the end, Arthur forsook his name at least for now, embracing the one Old Nan and her grandchild had given him fully. Mother Spindle took him before the elders and gave to them her visions, declaring the fulfillment of a prophecy made centuries before the birth of even Camelot. "The gods have seen fit to bring to us the Future Man who was Once King. He has lived the visions I have witnessed, and come to change them for the good of all."

"You cannot have the future without the past, Mother Spindle."

"Events surrounding the great Emrys must continue down their path. For Arthur Pendragon's fate must remain unchanged."

Dagon stepped forward then, ignoring Mother Spindle's earlier command that he must remain silent in the druid council. "I know it is difficult to believe. I could very well be just another man dragged in from the road. You have reason to doubt the validity of her claims. I should rightfully be dead. I threw myself out of a window rather than allow myself to be devoured by the undead corpses of the Horde. I slew my best friend, the best worst servant Camelot has ever seen, with a weapon made from steel forged in a dragon's breath. The very same that slew me in the fields of Camlann. I have fought two lifetimes against enemies far too powerful for me to overcome alone. The first my own sister and the second a man I traveled the world over searching for because in my heart I knew that without him I am nothing. And yet I killed him as surely as I know that I killed myself." He looked at each of them in turn. "Still, here I stand before you. Unchanged since my 25th year. I have lost count of the years I have lived. I watched those under my command age and fight and die. My most loyal and closest knight in my second lifetime was my former enemy reborn, her soul seeking redemption and forgiveness. His name was Morgan and he saved my life time and again. He was twenty-eight when we met. And he was fifty-two when he died.

"Believe what you wish, but I know what I have seen. I know what I have done. And I choose to believe that I am here for a reason. That the gods or whatever powers may control the forces of the world wanted me here, now, to rewrite the future. To stop the world from ending. I may not be able to save Camelot from Morgana's wrath, and I may not be able to prevent the death of King Arthur, but I can save Merlin and stop him from losing his god damned mind and ending the world!"

Silence reigned in the elder circle before finally the oldest stood, helped to his feet by a young maiden. He leaned heavily on her as she helped him away from his stone seat to the center of the ring. The old man reached up a shaking hand and at first Dagon wanted to recoil, but something whispering in the back of his thoughts told him to stand firm. This moment... this moment was one that would change everything that lay ahead of him.

Rough fingers brushed the soldier's cheek, then took him sharply by the chin and made him look the old man in the eye.

"There he is," the old man said. "There's the son with Uther's strength and Ygraine's passion. The man with the blood of a dragon, the roar of a lion, and the soul of a phoenix."

"I'm simply a man and I am only as good as the men and women that stand at my side."

"Then there is hope for us yet." He released him, turning to the others. "This is Dagon of Mercia, the child of Ygraine reborn! Clothe him. House him. Teach him our ways. And perhaps Mother Spindle's doomsaying will have, we hope, been all for naught these last sixty-one years!"

**o0o**

It wasn't long before Dagon discovered how different these druids were from the ones he had been used to.

For one, these druids were fighters.

The nomadic druids of Camelot and the surrounding kingdoms were a peaceful sort. They abhorred violence, and would only employ it to protect themselves. Even then, they would try to settle things without it.

These druids, however, had no qualms about picking up a sword and hacking an enemy to pieces if necessary.

"We journeyed here five winters ago. Not long before your arrival. The pilgrimage was hard on our people, but we could not resist magic's call to come home."

"Home? Where did you come from?"

"Our ancestors fled Albion when our lands fell to ruin. None of the surrounding kingdoms would take us in, so we built ships and trusted our fate to the gods of the seas. Many here were born on the western isle of Eire, across the seas of Meredoc. But our hearts have always longed for Albion. Though we've all the fire and iron of Eire in our veins our home has always been here."

In time, Dagon learned the ways of the warrior druids. Their culture. Their language and script. Their rituals and their crafts. And though magic still put him on edge, he saw it used for good among them. He saw it used for healing and the well-being of the community rather than the destruction of one's enemies.

And he taught them much of what he knew from the future. At least, what the technology of this time allowed. He showed them simple ways to utilize steam as an energy source for simple machines to make their lives easier. Fighting techniques that would not be seen in this land for hundreds, if not a thousand years. Symbols of writing and spoken language from his future era.

But time, as it always does, marches on. And his time with the warrior druids would come to an end someday. But not before he was put through the rite all the warriors of the clan were put through when they completed their warrior's training.

Dagon was sent on what he believed to be a hunt.

When night fell and it was time to make camp, he and his companion headed for a cave they knew to be nearby. They had used it before when the weather had turned foul. Upon arrival, Dagon found the cave not as empty as he had expected.

"What's all this?"

"The true reason we are here, brother. To forge you a sword."

Dagon turned to Brig raised a brow. "A what? Do I look like a bloody blacksmith?!"

"No. Which is why I will help you."

She had scavenged the wilds. Collected weapons from bandits and highwaymen. There was coin and jewelry. Chunks of ore, straps of cloth and leather, and even some jewels. It was as if the blacksmith's stock had all been moved to the cave in secret.

With magic she lit the cave, and led him deeper still into the caverns where he discovered a forge. "Choose your metals wisely. I will help guide your hand but you must make your weapon. Once you have done so, you will be ready to take on any foe. Even the gods themselves would be foolish to stand against you."

"Did you do this?"

"Aye. As did my father before. Every warrior worth the title's made his own weapon. And every warrior in the clan that's died has been buried with it, too. It's a rite of passage and a mark of honor. And you'll not be going back to the grove until you've made a sword worthy of a king."

For weeks he toiled. He hammered. He stoked the fires of the forge.

For months he worked. Singing songs from his youth, telling stories to his companion of his mother and father in Aberdeen to keep sane. He would take turns hunting their supper and fetching more water and wood.

Eventually, when his sword would not break and his blade remained sharp, Brig challenged him to a duel.

"To first blood, princess. Let that blade taste what it was made for!"

**o0o**

There was celebration the following night. Both Dagon and Brig were a little worse for wear. It had not been an easy fight, as the swaths of bruising across his body and hers could attest beneath the ceremonial body paint that swirled in reds, blues, and greens across their forms in intricate patterns. The warriors of the druid clan welcomed him into their ranks as Brig recounted for them his many trials and tribulations in the forging of his weapon. When it came time to recount the duel between them, Dagon joined her in the telling. The two of them re-enacted some of the harrowing moments in an exaggerated fashion to entertain their audience.

When the excitement began to wind down, and much dancing and drinking and even debauchery had been had, Dagon found himself sitting not in the place of honor among the remaining warriors, but with the elders. Drinking and listening to the old warriors and hunters telling stories they've probably told one another a thousand times before, and will tell a thousand times more.

"Help an old woman to sit, child."

"Child? I'm nearly as old as you by now I imagine," Dagon said, but helped Mother Spindle down onto the smoothed down stump beside him anyway.

"Aye, that you are. In this life," she said, accepting the small cup of water he offered her after she was comfortable. "You look troubled. This is a party in your honor. And yet here you sit in a circle of sad, drunk old men telling tales of glories long since past."

"How can you know what I look like if you cannot see, old woman?" he replied cheekily. She smiled at him fondly, reaching up with a hand to touch his cheek. He had become used to her touching his face during his time among these people. It was her way of seeing, but also her way of showing affection when words could not. "Besides, I like their stories. The more I hear, the more I can pass on to others when the elders are gone. That way, you'll never be forgotten."

"I often forget how old you truly are..." she said, drawing her hand away. "And how much longer you've to live still."

Dagon turned his gaze back to the fire, but did not shy away when she leaned into him. Instead, he put an arm around the old woman's shoulders, holding her as one would their mother or grandmother. "I try not to think about it," he says softly. But she hears him.

"Your time with us grows short. You have learned all that we can teach you and soon you must depart and seize the destiny that lies before you."

"Is there anything more that I can do for the clan? Anything more that I can teach and pass on?"

"In time, yes. But we live in such an age that the world is not yet ready for the fullness of the knowledge you possess." She finished her drink and tossed the cup carelessly aside. "Have you named your sword?"

"A sword only gets a name after it has been used for a great deed."

She smiled and nodded before pulling away from him. When he saw she meant to stand, he stood and offered his hands to help her to her feet. She reached up and cupped his cheek. "Do something for me tonight," she said.

"Anything."

She pinched his cheek like he was a naughty child before smiling. "Find someone to fuck."

Dagon spluttered, shouting something in surprise that was lost to the laughter of the old men around the fire.

"You heard me child. Any one of the fit young men and women would throw themselves as your feet." She let go of his cheek with a gap toothed grin. "You're too depressing to be around. A good hard fucking will lighten your mood!"

**o0o**

Dagon didn't take her advice that night.

But in the days after, when Brig had caught him by the river with one of the hunters, Mother Spindle would give him a knowing look whenever they crossed paths. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore so when it was his turn to help her with her weaving, he simply told her in a rather annoyed tone, "You don't have to look so damn smug about it."

**o0o**

It was the middle of the night when the cries for help began. Dagon was roused from a deep and surprisingly peaceful slumber. The autumn air was cool against his skin as he felt around for his clothes.

"Here," the young woman who had shared his tent the night before said as she handed him his breeches. Quickly he dressed, just strapping on his sword as the flap to his tent was pulled aside. "Moira! There you are! We need your potions, quickly!"

"What's going on?"

"There's been an attack. Our cousins in Camelot-"

"Say no more. Brig and I will scout the paths, make sure they weren't followed by red cloaks."

"They would come here? To Mercia?"

"Uther's cruelty knows no borders and no bounds. The mad king seeks to purge our peaceful cousins from his kingdom. He will not stop until all magic is gone from Albion."

B y the time Dagon was readied to go, Brig was already leading two horses towards the edge of the encampment. He was forced to take off his sword belt and strap the thing to the saddle of the mare.

"What? You thought I'd let you run off and get yourself killed all on your lonesome?"

"I was going to get you!" Dagon exclaimed as he pulled himself up onto the horse.

"I know. Moira told me," she replied, tapping her temple. "You really should learn mind connection, Dagon. It will save you a lot of time and grief."

He gave her a look from the corner of his eye. "Contrary to popular belief, _Brigid_ , I'm not a druid and I've no magic. I cannot simply learn something I have no ability for."

"You'd be surprised," she replied, then kicked her feet and sent her horse rushing forward. Dagon did the same and soon, they were gone into the dark forest that protected their people.

**o0o**

Two days of riding brought them at last to the site of the slaughter. It was just inside the borders of Camelot. They'd seen no signs that the survivors had been pursued into Mercia.

"I know we're meant to.... but could we..." Brig nodded towards the bodies left in front of tents and hanging from trees.

Dagon dismounted his horse, tying her to a sturdy branch before he began searching the carnage for a shovel. Or a trowel. Anything to help them dig the graves. Through his long second life, scenes such as this never got easier. The only reason he didn't go around with his sword, caving all the heads in, was because he knew it was not Horde that had killed them. It was not the undead. It was a foolish prince and the knights his father had sent him out with.

"He tried to spare the women and children," Dagon said hours later as they stopped to take a break and drink some water - neither of them able to stomach even a bite of their travel rations.

"After knowing you for this long, I'd believe it. Won't stop me from slapping that baby face you share the day I meet him," she vowed.

"He's in his 19th year now. This was the first mission Uther sent him on. He still believes our sort to be evil by nature. Emrys will change him. Once Arthur is king of Camelot, no more needless slaughter. Have faith-"

"I have faith in you."

"And I was once him."

Brig shook her head. "You princess, are what he should have become. Would have had his father not given into a moment of weakness. Had he not taken his grief out on our people and on those with magic."

"When I was him, I was a good king. My people-"

"But you're not him anymore. You're better. Wiser."

"Older you mean."

"Aye, that too," she said, corking the water skin and putting it back into her saddlebag. "You fetch us some wood. I'll try and clear away some more of the bodies. Give them their rites."

"That'll change things for Camelot. Some years from now Arthur and his knights will return. One of them gets possessed by a spirit."

She considered it for a moment before shaking her head. "A small change. We'll leave the tents up. Add some strips to the shrines and mark the dead with stones. To see the evidence that someone cared enough to come back, knowing they might be caught and killed, may help ease the Prince's conscience. Or rattle him enough so he'll learn without the dangers of possession and revenge."

"I like that," he replied softly. "Wood then? Should I... Should I gather enough for pyres as well? I don't think we could bury all of them by ourselves before someone comes across us."

She nodded and turned away from him, pulling her shovel out of the ground from where she'd stabbed it and returned to their grim work.

**o0o**

The refugees were wary of Dagon. No doubt, he suspected, due in no small part to the fact he looked like one of their attempted murderers with a slight color swap at the hair. There was one that crept into his tent at night and tried to kill him as he slept. When he awoke to find the woman there, her eyes blazing with fury and a lust for vengeance, he did not move to stop her. In fact, he reached up and carefully put his hand over her own and redirected the blade to a place he knew would kill him - had he been normal that is - and closed his eyes to calmly wait.

The following morning, when he crossed paths at the communal fires at breakfast, he simply gave a nod to her and moved to join his friends among the warriors and their apprentices.

"King's Mercy," Brig said as she sat down beside him with her bowl of porridge and berries.

"What?"

"Your sword's name. I've been thinking it over since that night."

"It's a terrible name for a sword!"

"You'll have to call it something."

"Well I'm not calling it that. A name will make itself known. Someday. By some great or terrible deed to which it is put to use."

And so began a month of random names being suggested to him whether he liked it or not.

**o0o**

There was another raid on another small group of peaceful druids. This time, they had forewarning. Mother Spindle had told the chief warrior of the impending disaster, this time in Essetir.

Cenred was hunting for magic users. What better place to find them than among the druids.

Dagon was among those chosen to ride south and rescue their peaceful cousins from the clutches of Cenred and bring them back home. To give them a place among the growing warrior clan.

After weeks of hard riding the warriors and healers found their journey ended at the slave pits deep into Cenred's territory. It was Brig who managed to sneak a handful of the fighters in, hiding among the slaves to assess the situation. Dagon was with this small group, and was shocked to see that despite the ages between Camelot and the apocalypse... not much had changed in thousands of years in the manner of slavery.

He thought of Leona then, Leon born again, and her struggle against the slavers that had captured her. He hadn't thought beyond a passing memory of his knights and their future lives in a very long time. And then.... he had a plan. Quietly he sought out one of his companions, knowing they could do what he could not - mind speak with the rest of the party. With any druids or magic users present. "Find the troublemaker. The only one here that won't break."

"What? Why?"

"Because that's going to be the one who knows what doesn't work for escaping. Trust me."

Half a day later there was a slave revolt, led by Brig, Dagon, and the troublemaker they had found.

**o0o**

The way back to their grove in Mercia was slower than their departure. There were many injured, and then there were those that died along the way.

Of those that returned with them, whispers of the deeds of the warriors spread through the grove along with the laments for those who fell in battle.

The warriors of the clan gathered together late into the night, telling tales - true or untrue - about those who fell. Praising their battle prowess or reminiscing of their past great deeds. And then, after much drinking, arguments and debates broke out. Dagon did not understand when someone pushed him forward, declaring him "The Chainbreaker!" and the veteran warriors shoved someone else forward. Someone who looked rather a lot older with more experience.

"What in the-"

"Oi! He didn't break those chains by himself!" Brig drunkenly protested. "Besides! Dagon can't be chief!"

"Why not?!" another, younger warrior cried out. "Look at all he's done to make us better! Make us stronger!"

"You want me to be.... wait a minute. No, I don't want to lead you!"

But his protests fell on deaf ears until late into the night Mother Spindle arrived to sit by their fire.

"Who has heard," she began when they had fallen silent upon noticing her presence. "The tale of the Grail Knights?"

It wasn't until she had gotten rather far in her tale telling that Dagon realized he knew this story. Sort of. Some of the details were wrong, such as names. But the plot was the same. And the last time he'd read it had been the night before Nivene was found staggering in the forest outside their Swiss bunker with the Kingslayer sword.

**o0o**

Mother Spindle came to Dagon after the older warrior, Olwaine, was made warrior chief of the clan.

"Two moons you have left with us, child," she had said in the privacy of his tent. "And then you must travel west where your destiny awaits you."

"Do you foresee my return to the clan after my quest?"

"No. But we will meet again in the years to come. I've one last vision to share with you but the time is not yet right."

"What do you mean?"

She tapped her chin with a finger and despite being unable to see with her eyes, they moved as if she were looking at him from the top of his head to the bottom of his soles. Then, she nodded subtly. "Your soul is not ready to know it. But in the fullness of time, it will be. The goddess wills it so."

**o0o**

Two months passed. Two moons.

And Dagon had a strange dream.

He dreamt a dream he had seen before. A vision of an old, wrinkled man. A very familiar trident. And an empty wasteland.

When he awoke with a start before dawn, his bed partner didn't even stir. He snored away with a look of bliss on his sleeping face. "Cyr's dream must be a good one," a voice said. Brig's voice. "Your own... not so much."

"What are you doing here? Has something happened?"

"Yes.... no. I'm... uncertain. Mother told me to fetch you," she said, then bent down to grab his breeches before throwing them at him. "And get dressed. No one wants to see you strutting around naked."

She waited outside his tent for him before she started off for the forest rather than the elders' tents. "Should I have brought my sword? Or a knife?" he asked when he caught up with her hurried strides. Brig did not respond as she led the way. They climbed a hill, and the trees became sparse as they climbed until finally they cleared and the pair came out on a dirt track.

At the crest of the hill they found a fire and a circle of carved wooden seats. One for every elder. "Why have I not seen this before?"

"Because it was hidden from you. I only know it because I helped clear the trees and make the seats," Brig said quietly, searching around before she found the one who had sent for them. "This way," she said, taking him by the arm to lead him into the circle.

Brig dropped to her knee, and Dagon copied for lack of knowing what else to do. He copied the woman who had helped to train him. Who had been his guide and his closest friend since he had been brought to the grove.

"Mother," Brig said softly. "I've brought him."

"Thank you," the old blind woman said just as softly, then with a shaking hand reached forward and took her by the chin to lift her face. "Destiny calls us all to serve and it is not our place to question why. Only to accept our roles in the greater tapestry. It is time, my daughter, to do your duty."

"Is this the will of the goddess?"

"It is the will of the Old Religion. When the goddess laid her hand upon the dead child in my womb and gave her new life, I never could have foreseen the great joy and light you have brought into mine. But it is now time to say goodbye my dear Brigid."

"I don't want to go."

"And yet you must. You have been training for this day your entire life. And it is by divine providence that events have unfolded so as to bring great honor to your clan and hope back into this world." Mother Spindle cupped her cheek and leaned forward, placing a kiss upon her forehead before releasing her and turning to Dagon. "My King. Your time among us has come at last to an end. And we are all the poorer without you. You came to us kidnapped for your own safety. You were so angry and filled with hate and a lust for revenge. Your soul was ragged and torn like an open wound. I need not look to the future to know the pain you still carry. But the hate has faded and become hope. The lust for revenge has transformed into a determination to help and to heal. Anger has given way to understanding."

"Where am I to go now? Is it now when I leave for Camelot?"

"No. The time is not yet right for your direct intervention. You must go north and west, for in the Perilous Lands is where your destiny resides. And it is there you will truly become the man you were always meant to be. Now rise. My King. There is a ritual that needs your willing participation before you are to depart at dawn."

**o0o**

Dagon and his traveling companion would not know for many years that on this day, at the very hour they left the grove of their clan seeking their destinies, so too did the great Emrys leave his sleepy little village of Ealdor in Essetir for the bustling and danger ridden castle town of Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Honestly, i don't know how often this will get updated as I've got a lot of medical stuff going on at the moment. But this idea just... It was bugging me and I HAD to get it written down.  
> I hope to keep working on this, as I've got quite a long bit of plot outlined in my google docs.  
> Anyway, hope you've enjoyed it, and continue to enjoy whatever updates come.


	3. Heir of the Fisher King

The journey to the Perilous Lands should have been a simple one.

It wasn't.

Dagon's sense of duty, that strange drive to help those who couldn't help themselves, often won out. He and Brig would fight off bandits and help weary travelers by escorting them safely from one village to another. They had, more than once, crossed the borders into Camelot to help someone in dire need.

It was months before they finally found themselves at the bridge. It was the only entrance and exit to the Perilous Lands that they could safely reach. The only other way was to approach from the north by crossing through the kingdom of Deira.

As Arthur he had met the guardian of the bridge, the dwarvish creature called Grettir. It... had not been the most pleasant of encounters, but at the time he was still the arrogant prince of Camelot.

"Fortitude and Faith. I expected not to ever meet the pair of you."

"I thought I was Courage," Dagon replied after he climbed down from his horse.

Grettir raised a brow. "What is fortitude but courage by another name, your highness?"

"You know me?"

"I know of you. The trees talk and those that dwell in them do whisper. Nearly as much as they do of Emrys."

Dagon looked beyond Grettir to the bridge. "We've business in the Perilous Lands, sir. I know of the wyverns and the wastes. What else do you feel we should be prepared for?"

"Anything. This land is crawling with nightmare creatures. The deeper you go, the more dangerous they are. If you make it to the tower, be wary of leaving its safety after dark lest you wish to meet a horrifying end."

"Well," Brig said with a shrug. "I mean, if that didn't sound downright ominous I don't know what else could." She grinned, and it was a manic sort of thing that Dagon had learned in a cave full of weapons meant no good could ever come of what she had in mind.

"We are NOT night hunting!"

"Come on, princess! Where's your courage!"

"It's back in Camelot probably trying to get his armor as muddy as possible to annoy his manservant."

"You didn't!"

"Just get your damn horse and walk it across the bridge you lunatic!" he snapped at her. "I'll be right behind." After a bit more teasing, she did as he told her as he in turn placed his attention back on the dwarf. "I will not know you the next time we meet, and I will be rather rude. You were simply trying to help me even though you didn't have to and I was an arrogant prat. For that I am very sorry."

"Bring life back to the lands beyond, sire. That is all the apology I need."

He gave a small nod, uncertain if he could fulfill such a request. Taking the reigns of his horse, he turned then to the bridge and carefully led the mare across it. When he stopped to look behind him upon the other side, the dwarf was gone and there was no sign that he had ever been waiting there for them.

**o0o**

They didn't make it to the tower before nightfall. In fact they spent most of the night fighting and running for their lives.

Not because they weren't capable of slaying the beasts and creatures that came out during the night, but because there were just so damn many of them.

By dawn they'd lost Dagon's horse and half their provisions. Thankfully he'd had his sword in hand at the time else he'd have lost that, too. They took turns throughout the day sleeping in the saddle until they found a cave near dusk. Brig went in first, using magic to fling balls of light into the darkness to scout for danger and beasties.

Finding none, she returned to collect Dagon and the horse.

As he made camp for them, she went to collect firewood nearby. They said nothing to one another when she had returned with two bundles of wood. One of which looked to be freshly hewn from the trees in the area. He watched her as she moved boulders and rocks from deeper in the cave to block the entrance from the larger creatures that would come out as the moon rose. She left an opening near the top for air to come in and smoke to flow out. It wasn't ideal, as it wouldn't keep out the smaller beasties, but neither did she and Dagon wish to suffocate before completing their quest.

They took turns on the night watch after breaking bed and sharing some mead - they wanted to conserve their water, not knowing what lay ahead for them.

**o0o**

They lost their remaining horse the following day to a broken leg and were forced to continue their journey on foot.

The dead, empty landscape reminded him far too much of the world he had left behind. It put him into a dark, quiet mood. Nothing came out to attack them that day, but that didn't make either of them any less watchful of the path ahead or what lay behind.

**o0o**

"Are you sure this is the right way?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever been here before?"

"No."

"Well I have, and I don't recognize a damn bit of this. I think we're lost. We should have been at the tower by now."

"Princess, please trust me. This is the right way. I can feel it in my bones. The magic-"

"Fuck your magic! We're bloody lost is what we are! If we don't finish this quest, the world will end! Merlin will-"

"Is that what's got your head in a twist?!"

"We can't afford to fail! I can't afford to fail!"

Brig dropped her pack to the dust at her feet and turned on him. Green eyes hard and her face set in a familiar stubborn mask. "We will succeed, Sire," she said firmly. As if there was no doubt in her mind of this. "You will succeed. Whatever lies at the end of this road for us, it will help you become the king you were meant to be. You will save Emrys and together you will save us all."

"How can you believe any of this destiny tripe?! I'm nothing! I'm less than that even! Uther is king of Camelot, and Arthur will follow! And after him I'm nothing but a poor imitation! A stranger in my own land who's going to then have a dead man's face!"

A face that was hit with an open palm, but still hard enough to force him back a few paces. He dropped his pack in the process.

"I believe, Sire," she said, shaking her hand out. She'd hit him a little harder than she'd expected. "Because I have faith in the man, not the dream. Fuck your destiny. Fuck prophets and their visions, my own mother included! I have seen the kind of man you are. You are not the man you were in Camelot. You are not the man I kidnapped to protect him on the road from Mercia. You could wear a crown of dung and I'd still call you my King and follow you to the ends of the world."

He eyed her, but said nothing.

"I believe because you are a great man. You are strong and brave and selfless. Perhaps, one day, it may be my privilege and honor to watch you become a good one." She glared at him a moment before turning away to pick up her pack. "Come on. There's not much light left and I don't see anywhere safe to make camp yet."

**o0o**

They walked for one more day before the tower Dagon remembered from so long ago came into view. Before the scenery became more familiar to him - even if the memories were distant.

They fought off a couple of wyverns before finally they were able to take refuge near the tower in a crumbling structure that vaguely resembled what might have once been a house he supposed.

"I never noticed, the first time," he said, gesturing to the three crumbling walls that shielded them from the elements and the creatures. "There must have been a village or a town built around the Fisher King's tower."

Brig tossed the last few bits of wood from the bundle she'd managed to scrape together as Dagon made camp. "Aye. The old stories passed down in the clan tell of a thriving city around a shining white tower. It was more a castle, then, I suppose. With the tower being the most important bit."

Dagon frowned when he looked at her across the meagre flames. "I know your people are from Albion but-"

"Aye. This was our home. I don't know what all's true and what's just a tale to tell the kiddies. But the storytellers describe our homeland as... paradise. Magic woven through the very heart of the kingdom. I imagine this house might have had a heart tree once," she said with a far away look in her eye. "It's why we give small oak cuttings when we wed. It's... some of the few traditions we have left from before our flight from Albion. Used to be you'd give a sapling. Plant it and watch it grow as your family grows. The bigger and older the tree, they say, the bigger and more prosperous the family. At the birth of a new child, depending on the season, you'd give leaves from the heart tree to friends and family to mark the occasion. Or the acorns when it was winter."

They sat in silence as the fire died down to smoldering coals. "I'll keep the first watch," Dagon offered.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Couldn't sleep if I wanted to anyway," he said.

She questioned him one more time after laying out her bed roll. he threatened to knock her out if she didn't lay down and at least attempt to get some shut eye.

**o0o**

Brig was pissed when she woke to see it was daylight and he hadn't woken her for her turn at the watch.

She showed her displeasure by walking behind him and kicking pebbles into his calves at every opportunity like a petulant child.

**o0o**

The last stretch of the journey felt... well... Dagon couldn't properly describe it. The way into the tower was familiar enough, if a bit fuzzy on the recollection.

He was not looking forward to the stairs. So many god damned stairs.

"I claimed the trident on a quest once," he said. "Will claim. It's confusing, sometimes, trying to remember what the other Arthur has and hasn't done yet."

Brig merely hummed as she cautiously crept ahead of him, watching the front while he watched their backs. If there were any traps, or worse - bandits laying in wait - the absence of heavy knights armor was both a blessing and a curse. Lighter weight meant they could more easily dodge traps. But more than once he lamented the absence of the protective shell his armor used to provide. It's why he and many others in the far distant future had layered on the kevlar along with whatever could be reasonably fashioned into lightweight armor. Gwen had been particularly fond of some sports equipment they'd found while taking refuge in some crumbling American high school.

"Are you sure you know where-"

"Yes. The call of magic... It's hard to explain. But this is the way. I feel it. If you'd open yourself to it, you could as well, princess."

"Me, have magic? I doubt that."

He'd have said more had she not suddenly stopped at an open doorway covered in cobwebs.

A vaguely familiar doorway.

With swords drawn, they cautiously entered. She was lighter on her feet than he, and stopped him from stepping on a slightly raised flagstone. "Not there," she said. "Watch my feet. Step into my steps." She deliberately slowed herself so he could see where she placed her feet as they traversed the large, empty room.

When they reached the large throne, it could not have been mistaken as anything else, in the center of the chamber, she stopped. Dagon, his eyes on her feet rather than the rest of her, crashed forward when she'd come to her sudden halt. "What-" He cut his words off however, when he saw the withered husk of a man. And the gleaming trident clutched tightly by his gnarled hand.

"That," he started. "Was not here the last I recall," he said, taking a look around before sheathing his sword, his companion doing the same... though she had eyes only for the throne and the thing upon it.

"The last king of Elmet," Brig said in awe as she knelt before the husk upon the throne. It's eyes closed and expression slightly peaceful as if he'd died in his sleep.

"The corpse is remarkably preserved," he said. "Perhaps it is the magic of this place that has made it so." He moved closer to take a better look at the husk. The robes were centuries out of style, but he could easily imagine their opulence in their time. Fingers itched to take the trident from its hand, but a niggling voice that sounded a bit too much like Merlin in the back of his thoughts told him not to mess with it. It was not meant for him. Not anymore. Not yet. So instead he reached for the crown upon the head, intending to take a look at some of the engravings before dead eyes suddenly opened and a hand, quick as a viper, reached out from the folds of the robes and encircled his wrist to stay his hand.

"It is remarkably preserved, Arthur Pendragon, because it is not yet dead."

Though the Fisher King's words were lost as Dagon had shouted in shock and surprise. Brig jumped to her feet and had removed her sword from its sheath again, intending to cut the arm away and free him. The sword, however, was knocked away by the trident.

Ancient eyes, grey eyes, were alight and ringed in green as the husk king's lips whispered an incantation Dagon nor Brig recognized. Withered vines burst from the wood of the throne and lashed out to restrain the two intruders. Only then did the Fisher King's hand release Dagon's wrist.

"Why have you come and disturbed my slumber? It is not yet time for Emrys to embark upon this quest."

The pair struggled against the vines, one of them wrapping around Dagon's throat and tightening. Outside the windows of the dusty, cobweb covered throne room, wyverns had gathered. Wings beating the air as they snapped their jaws. Brig tested her magic against the vines, but it was no use. She wasn't strong enough.

"We come," Brig struggled to get out, "to seek your wisdom, my King!"

"You lie. I am not your king. This," the husk of the Fisher King croaked. "Is your unworthy king."

"Please, I beg you," Brig pleaded as she began to claw at the vines now wrapping around her throat. "We only followed magic's call and it was the goddess who led us back home!"

Brig was dropped immediately, the vines quivering a moment before slithering back from her. She moved quickly to Dagon's side, trying and failing to remove the vines that were slowly choking him to death. "Please, your majesty, release him."

"Speak, child. And speak quickly if you wish to save this... puppet king."

"I am Brigid, a sword master of the Oaken Heart Grove. My mother is a Seer and it was she who sent us on this quest. The goddess wills that he live and save Emrys from a fate worse than death."

The vines seemed to probe her and poke her. One even stroked her hair briefly before pulling back. Beside her she could see the color returning to her friend's face. The blueness leaving his lips. His ability to breathe restored to him.

"A druid warrior..." the Fisher King said, his voice low as he mused it over. "Strange... the druids are and always have been peaceful. Your tribe included. Though very strong in magic."

"We were forced to embrace violence and war to survive outside your fallen paradise, your majesty. My people are all that survive of Elmet of old. We were called back by the Goddess herself to return to this land to find the Pendragon Reborn and guide him to his destiny."

The gray, dead eyes turned then to Dagon once more, a flash of green ringing them as the vines loosened, just a little. "What say you?"

"Kill me," he said, his voice hoarse from his strangulation but no less defiant. "And I will only rise again. Though if you alone are lucky and are able to keep me down for good, then you will have doomed us all."

"Cocky little shit, aren't you," the Fisher King said as Brig went for her pack. He was distracted, and that was all she needed to fetch the gift her mother had given her before they left. A powerful Seer Stone of which Mother Spindle had kept with her for years. Through every nightmare and every dream. Every vision, so long as she held the stone, was trapped within its crystalline structures.  


She moved swiftly, slapping the small stone into the husk's free hand and holding it against it's dry, papery skin with hope that it would work.

The vines tightened around Dagon once more before the king's grey eyes clouded over. Brig stood stock still, lost to the magic of the stone herself. The vines loosened and Dagon dropped to the stone floor, gasping for breath. Moments later, Brig was thrown back by an invisible force, the stone she'd held clattering to the ground before the throne.

The Fisher King was silent. His eyes slid closed as he sat, still as death. Brig scrambled to Dagon's side, checking him over with as much fervor as he remembered Merlin having done for him in their later years together.

"I'm fine," he croaked out, rubbing at his throat. "Been worse."

"I know," she said, forcing a smile. "I've inflicted worse on you myself. But are you truly alright?"

He didn't answer, choosing to remain silent on the matter as he looked past her to the stone. "What was that?"

"Later," she said, using magic to bring it closer. She tucked it into the pocket of her trousers before she helped him to his feet.

The raspy voice of the Fisher King came again, but he still looked as cold and still as death. "Leave me. The traps in my castle have been made safe. Do not leave it lest you wish to die. Do not return to this chamber until I have summoned you."

"Your majesty-"

"I must think on what I have seen. Until then, you are my prisoners. This castle and this land will obey my will. Should you attempt escape, you will be killed before the hour is over."

"We thank you, your majesty. You are most gracious," Brig said, a hand clamped over Dagon's mouth when he attempted to speak.

**o0o**

The pair of them were given the run of the tower, which they learned had an extensive underground complex beneath it that made up the bulk of the castle. When they came across the library, also within the underground portion of the complex, they learned why.

"It says here the tower was originally a prison built by the Romans as century after their conquest of Albion," Dagon said as he showed her the book. Though, she could hardly read any of it. "The first king of Elmet was a warlock who was imprisoned in the tower and when he escaped, he knew he would be found quickly over the land. He and other sorcerers that were locked in the tower combined their magic and carved out a tunnel in which to hide, sealing the entrance behind them so that they would not be found. When they made it to the surface, their king wasn't even a king yet, but a..." He doubled checked the text. Then checked it again.

"He was a what?"

"A farmer."

"A what?!"

"A farmer. Just.... a farmer. Who had always used his magic to work the land. He was imprisoned for it."

Brig focused on anything with pictures while Dagon would find himself delving into the history of the fallen kingdom. They would sleep in a different chamber of the tower or the underground complex each night. The castle, it seemed, would provide food for them to eat and fresh water each day. Just enough that, if they were careful with their rationing, would last them the day as they explored and learned.

**o0o**

Time, it seemed, slipped by without their notice before Brig felt the siren's call of magic once again to draw them to the King and his throne.

"I have decided," he said solemnly. "I will not kill you."

"Well that's a relief," Dagon said without thinking.

"In light of what your fiery companion has shown me, I will instead train you in what time I have left. Choose chambers in the tower to call your own. You will begin your tutelage tomorrow."

**o0o**

Their first task was to unlock Dagon's magic. Magic he did not even believe he had. They sought answers in the books. They sought advice of the king. Brig even walked him through ritual after ritual that she could remember from her people and yet, there was nothing. Not even a spark.

"Perhaps," the Fisher King said one day. "You should quest. In the north of these lands lies a cave. When this kingdom was thriving and the lands lush and green, many would seek the Oracle of Waters. From her they would often come away with the answers they desperately sought."

"Does she still live?"

"No you foolish boy! But the cave still stands and its waters still flow. I feel them. Go, seek. The worst that can happen is you fall over a branch and break your neck. All the better because then I will be rid of you."

The pair found the following day enough provisions to last them a couple of days travel on foot and a map. They only had to hope it wasn't too far for them to reach.

**o0o**

The trek to the cave was... uneventful. The once hostile land was... well, it wasn't exactly beautiful or lush or even safe. But it wasn't nearly as harsh as the journey to the Fisher King's tower had been.

Though Dagon had said he would sell his left testicle for a horse as they neared the half-way mark.

**o0o**

The cave, when they found it, was tucked at the end of a ravine. When they grew nearer to it, Brig could feel the magic pouring out of the dead end that lay before them.

A pool of crystal clear water. Birds. Small mammals. It was... "Green..." she whispered. "Sire, it's green! It's alive! And the magic.... I feel it seeping into my bones! It's so warm and welcoming! I wish you could feel it!"

But he did feel it. Every touch of his fingers to the impossible life that existed here. Every splash of the water from the waterfall that fed directly into the pool of shining, clear water. It sizzled and it shocked. It was warm and it was strange and familiar all at the same time.

This impossible pocket of life and magic and... He closed his eyes and breathed it in. The freshness of the air. The coolness of this place of eternal spring. It reminded him of his home. His true home. In Camelot. It reminded him of Gaius's chambers. Of hunts and quests and impossibly lucky falling tree branches. Something in him... loosened. The tightness he felt in his heart, the guilt he still carried on his shoulders for what he was forced to do... for who he was forced to kill... It started to lift.

"It'll be dark soon," Brig said at last, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Let's check out the cave. See if it's dry enough inside for a fire and make camp."

**o0o**

The cave was... something else.

They had found a narrow path worn into the wet stone that led behind the waterfall.

Inside it was unusually warm. Warm enough that after the pair of them had deemed it safe, Dagon stripped off his upper layers in order to cool himself as Brig shined a glowing ball of light around. "Should we get a fire going?" she asked. "Only with how hot it is in here already, I don't think it wise."

"You're right. If we need a fire to cook by, we'll go outside near the pool," he agreed as he laid out their bed rolls and started to unpack by the light of the glowing orb.

Brig made a second one, leaving the first bobbing around for Dagon to see by. With her second one, she examined the walls of the ancient cave. It was... fascinating. The primitive paintings she found there. Changing in style and color, becoming more and more simplistic the deeper she went into the cave. "Reminds me of our time forging my sword," Dagon called out to her. "Our clan has a thing about caves, don't they?"

"I like that you include yourself."

"I have no one else," he replied. "The way you found me was fucked up, but in the end I know you had no choice. I'm a stubborn asshole and I put up a fight. You were doing what you had to."

Eventually she came back and sat on her bedroll, letting the second light bob around before disappearing. She divied up what was left of the food in her supplies, telling him she'll go out and fish tomorrow.

**o0o**

The pair of them spent days examining the cave walls and exploring its admittedly not very deep depths. But they did discover at the very back of the cave a stone brick wall with an opening that might have at one time had a door. Inside they found a bed, a stool, and a workbench. "It looks like a small apothecary," Brig said softly. They found what looked to be scrolls, but they had all rotted or turned to dust. No amount of magic could rescue them.

However, they did find two medallions filthy with grime and age. They took them outside to wash them in the waters of the pool and Brig excitedly showed him the coin she had washed clean.

"Look!" she cried, practically shoving it under his nose. It was the golden one.

"The Camelot crest!" she exclaimed. "And look!" She turned it over for him to see.

"I don't-"

"Have you never seen the sigil of the dragonlords before, princess?"

"You have to remember, bonehead, they're all gone. By now there's... maybe two. Merlin and his father," he said as he continued to scrub at the second, silver coin. When he managed to get enough of the dirt off, he nearly dropped it into the water as if burned.

Brig reached down and snatched it from the water's edge before it was lost. She held it up and examined it closely, then turned it over. One side, she recognized. Camelot's crest. The Dragon of the Pendragons. The other... "I don't recognize this one."

"It was my mother's sigil," he said. "The crest of the duBois household. But what's it doing in a cave in the Perilous Lands? So far away from Camelot? So far away from.... anywhere. As far as we know the last time anyone was here-"

"He did call this a place where an oracle used to reside. And it is steeped with magic. Perhaps... Perhaps it's a sign."

"A sign of what?!"

"Destiny," she said simply. "If this is your mother's sigil, and on the back is your father's. Does it not make sense that your own would ride the back of the sigil for the dragonlord Emrys?" She took his hand and slapped the two coins into his palm. "No matter how messed up things have gotten, no matter how dark and hopeless, it has always been your destiny to stand beside one another. This should be a sign of hope, sire. Hope that you will be reunited and bring about the peace and paradise that was promised."

He found himself sitting that night at the small fire near the pool as Brig slept in the cave. He held the two coins, tracing the designs with his fingers as he thought about what she had said. About what the presence of these in the cave may mean. He could not help then, but to think about the future and the madness that Merlin had suffered. The insanity in his eyes when they had finally met... when he had been forced to kill the one man he searched the world for.

Dagon... Arthur... he could not deny the yearning in his soul. The bullet shaped hole in his heart that had been there since he woke in that tiny village in Mercia. That hole he tried time and again to fill with meaningless sex back in the Grove.

_ "Arthur...." _

He sighed, rising to his feet and going to the water's edge to fill the makeshift bucket Brig had made for them so he could put out the fire.

_ "Arthur..." _

He crouched down to dip the bucket in.

_ "Arthur!" _

A hand reached out of the water, dragging him in with a great splash.

In the cave Brig slept on, the noise of her friend's abduction was covered by the soothing sound of the waterfall.

**o0o**

Arthur found himself in pain. Excruciating pain.

He found himself crawling along the ground. His legs broken, his pelvis shattered, but his arms still worked and as long as there was breath in his lungs he would keep fighting. He should be dead but he was going to keep going.

Not that it mattered as the missiles soared overhead.

But he clawed the ground, his fingers turning to bloody hamburger with each drag and pull along the uneven pavement. If he was lucky, that pool of water up ahead was poisonous. He could kill himself before he was found by the Horde. Or before the world finally ended.

Part of him wanted to bring Merlin back to life just so he could kill him again for his stupidity alone.

It didn't matter anymore. Nothing did.

And then, just as suddenly as he had found himself in pain and dragging himself along the ground...

He wasn't. He was standing beside a pool of water. Bright and clear and impossible. A broken body - his broken body - still crawling towards the water in front of him.

When the broken form reached the water, cupping a bloody hand into it and bringing what he hoped to be blessed poison to his lips, he felt it. Or rather.... her.

"Arthur..." she said softly, the woman who rose out of the water. She looked so young.... and so tired. And vaguely familiar. He felt he should know her and yet his memory drew a blank.

She laid a hand upon his head as he cried, angry that the water was pure. Angry that he had failed. Angry that he was still alive.

"Arthur... you have not failed," she said, crouching by the broken man he had once been. "You have but one chance, but it must be your choice. To save our Merlin, what would you do?"

"Anything," the broken Arthur sobbed. And Dagon watched. "Please.... please anything for Merlin."

"Will you change the course of the world and steer Merlin down a different path away from the same madness that consumed your sister?"

"Yes!" he screamed, and Dagon winced at the desperate sound.

"Restore Albion, my king. Bring magic back to the land and you may yet save our beloved Merlin."

She cupped his cheek and closed his eyes for him. "Sleep now, and I will heal your most grave of wounds. When you wake, you will be back at the start. But be cautious... for Arthur must still die at Camlann if you are to succeed. For there cannot be two Arthur Pendragons."

The scene before him faded away and was replaced with another. His own body, clad in armor, upon a slab, with Excalibur buried in his chest. The same woman was standing by as the creatures hovered around the dead body of King Arthur, wrapping him in a cloak. Removing the ancient sword and placing it in his hands. "Never again will Excalibur leave these waters."

"How then is he to kill Emrys when the time is right?"

"The Kingslayer sword of Mordred," she said coldly. "Quickly now. We must begin the rites to guide his soul to the goddess's chosen vessel."

For a third time the scene changed.

And now he found himself standing at the pool again. But this time... this time there were a few people. An old woman and a little girl. The woman sat on a log, and the little girl was seated before her. The girl was working on something. The old woman was speaking a tongue he did not recognize. As he drew closer, he found the was using magic to etch into metal. A small wooden box was open beside her, and inside were coins. Coins! Just like the ones he and Brig had found earlier that day.

She looked up, as if staring right at him. She tilted her head and smiled. "Should it be a dragon or a phoenix, Sir Knight?"

Dagon staggered back. She continued to blink at him.

"I see them both, you know," she said. "Perhaps two then. For what once was and for what will be?"

She bent her head down again and returned to her work.

Suddenly, he found himself on his back, water pouring out of his mouth as the sounds of morning filled his ears.

Brig was hovering over him, panic in her eyes until she saw he wasn't dead. Then she slapped him hard across the cheek. "Don't you ever fucking scare me like that again you selfish, self righteous, crazy son of an ass!"

"What... what happened?" he croaked.

"You were face down in the damned water is what!"

**o0o**

Dagon would later find that there was now a third coin. A coin of gold with a phoenix on one side.... and a merlin on the other.

They spent a few more days at the waterfall after Dagon's near drowning. But that was only because they had managed to find a cave wall painting depicting a simplistic ritual, they assumed, that might help them do.... well. Something. It required a full moon as well, from what little they could make out.

And so, following the vague instructions of cave paintings only, they did what they had assumed to be correct.

At sundown, Dagon stripped down naked and stood under the waterfall where he spent all night. Shivering and wide awake. At dawn, he swore he had hypothermia.

"I suppose now we know why the cave is kept so warm," Brig had said, rubbing him down with blankets. She had even started a fire in a dry part of the cave, knowing it would be too hot for herself but perhaps just warm enough for him.

The following day he was delirious from the experience and not knowing what else to do, she'd cleared up the little room in the back, put him in the bed, and took stock of the ancient equipment available to her.

She went out to gather ingredients for healing teas, smudging bundles, and anything she could think of that the wise women and healers would use when the warriors and hunters would return from their hunts and quests injured. She used what little battle healing magic she knew.

On the final day, he suddenly found himself far too hot in the cave, and in what she had assumed to be another fit of delirium, fought her off and ran out of the cave, jumping through the waterfall and into the pool below. She hurried after him, trying not to slip on the wet stone because the pool, she knew, wasn't deep enough to dive from such a height.

"Dagon!" she cried out, searching for him. "DAGON!"

The force of magic that exploded out from the water was enough to throw her back into one of the stone walls of the enclosure. She struggled to stand, and found vines snaking up from the ground, pushing her upward. Helping her and guiding her to stand. Wildly she looked around the oasis they had been camping in and found it brighter. The magic of the place was... it was singing. As if a hymn of praise and she could not help but gasp as she felt the rise and fall of the magic around her when Dagon finally rose from the waters. He was practically glowing with magic himself.

"This..." he said, looking at his own hands in awe as he stepped forward, with each step closer to the shore more of him was exposed. "Is this what you feel all the time?" he asked in awe. "Is this what magic is meant to be like?" The innocence in his voice, the amazement in his bright blue eyes, all of it was like a child, discovering their magic for the first time.

"Yes," she said, not knowing if he could hear her or not. "Yes it is."

"How could Uther believe this is evil?" he asked. "How could I?"

"You didn't know," she replied. "You knew only what Uther taught you. And only the evils you have been forced to endure."

They packed up soon after this. Well, Brig did. Dagon was more inclined to sit and stare at his hands. Or his feet. Or pretty much any part of his body he could, still in awe of the strangeness and the novelty of it all.

The trek back to the tower was a lot easier now than it had been to leave it.

And if Brig noticed that with each step Dagon took, grass sprung up in his steps, only to wither and die again behind them, she didn't say a word about it.

**o0o**

Having magic and learning magic, Dagon found, were two entirely different things.

It was all about control, and lack thereof.

And so began the magical training under the careful eye of the Fisher King.

**o0o**

A few years passed as Dagon trained in magic with the Fisher King and Brig. But it wasn't only magic that he learned. It was history. History lost to the kingdoms of Albion. Of the peoples that had lived there before the Romans had come and after they had gone. History of the ancient kingdoms that no longer stood. Of tribes that had been wiped out.

He learned of the true kings of Camelot - and no, they were not Pendragons.

"The last true king of Camelot was overthrown by an angry man who was overlooked for knighthood," the Fisher King had said. "A man so filled with rage that he decided if he could not be a knight, then perhaps Camelot needed a better king."

"What?!"

"Uther Pendragon was no knight. A skilled warrior, yes. Of that there was never doubt. But he was as common as a blacksmith or a baker's son. Vortigern valued men of experience. Uther wished to skip all of that and go straight from nothing to knight. His father was trained by a knight, but chose another path. Though he taught his son everything he knew so that he may protect himself. Vortigern was nothing if not a tyrant. There was a nobility in Uther once... but history is often written by those who come out victorious. And for the lesser lords of Camelot who had backed the no-name peasant warrior, it did not do well to upset the man who proved even a pawn may overtake a king."

"How would you know all of this if you were trapped here in the tower? Bound to your chair?"

"You would be surprised, boy, what I can learn through magic."

Dagon did not question him on the matter again, knowing he would not receive a substantial answer.

**o0o**

One day, they felt the pull of magic that signaled the Fisher King's desire to see them. It was a familiar summons by now, but no less eerie.

"It is time to say goodbye to you both," he said when they had arrived to find a table laden with food. Grettir, whom they had come to know quite well, was there at the king's side. "This time next week, I shall at last be at peace."

"What?!" Dagon exclaimed as Brig nearly choked on the bite of apple she had taken.

"Courage is a four day's ride away," Grettir said. "You must be gone from the tower by then. He must never know that anyone was here. Behind him rides Magic, and along the way he will find Strength."

"It's time for Arthur to come claim the trident, isn't it?"

"It is. And after their departure, this land will need a king. I have decided that you will be that king, boy."

"I couldn't."

"You are the Future King and it is soon to be your time. What is a king without a dominion to call his own?"

"This is not my place. My place is in Camelot."

"Your place is at the side of Emrys, and Emrys makes his home only where his heart resides. For now that is Camelot, but it won't be that way forever. You know this. Do not let him dwell at the shores of an empty lake, wasting away and losing his faith. Do not allow that future the pair of you have shown me to come to pass."

They enjoyed the small feast and moved conversation to lighter topics. The Fisher King did not eat - he never ate, for he was sustained solely by magic now.

When they had finished eating, Brig and Grettir cleared away all evidence of their merry making as the king bid Dagon to come closer. He urged him to kneel. His gray eyes were ringed with green as he chanted. The vines protruded out from his throne once again. The thinnest wove themselves together, twisting themselves into a braid of wood and then tightened. They circled and spun and soon there was a circlet of braided and twisted wood. This was brought to the Fisher King and he snapped it off, smoothing the rough edges with his magic and his fingers. Two vines, like hands, gently took the crown of wood from him and placed it upon Dagon's head. Careful, as if in reverence.

"Elmet has never stood on pomp and ceremony," he said. "Our first king was a farmer imprisoned for doing magic. What the Romans did not know then, but learned over the course of a long and bitter war, is that in Elmet the land and the king are one. We are not given the right to rule by the station of our birth, but by the magic of the land. Green is our magic. The magic of earth and life and land and sea. As you thrive, the land will thrive. But I warn you... as you wither, so too will the land. When you leave here, return to the oasis. Return to the cave in which you found your power. You will know when it is time to return."

"There cannot be two King Arthurs," Dagon said softly, not looking up despite the new weight upon his head. "I cannot be king here while Arthur Pendragon lives."

"What is Fortitude but another name for Courage?" the Fisher King asked him. "You have another name, boy, use it!"

**o0o**

"Oh mighty King Dagon! Warlock King of the Druids!" Brig proclaimed in an annoyingly giddy voice as they began their trek back to the ravine in which their oasis cave awaited them.

When they arrived, it was as if the entire oasis sighed in pleasure, the magic welcoming them back and holding them close to its bosom.

They made camp and began their wait, not knowing what, exactly, they were waiting for.

**o0o**

It happened unexpectedly. Dagon was cleaning fish when he was struck with a sudden sense of.... well.... the only word he could describe it as was... everything. His head hurt, his heart beat far too quickly to be normal, and his magic surged as if he were about to explode. And then.... it had passed, and Dagon fell over from where he sat, falling unconscious from sudden exhaustion.

They didn't eat that night, and when Dagon woke up later it was to Brig complaining that he'd mangled the meat.

Neither noticed the wooden crown had sprouted tiny little leaves, for Dagon wasn't wearing it. It was, instead, inside the cave with the rest of their belongings.

When they were certain that he was well enough to travel again, they embarked on the journey back to the tower. It was with great surprise, then, that as they left the protection of the magical oasis they found the land slowly changing around them. Brig turned him around after some time to show him his footsteps. Each step he took was suddenly filled with greenery. Some even with flowers! Flowers that were most definitely out of season!

"What-"

"The land and the king are one," Dagon said softly. Too softly for his companion to hear as he realized the Fisher King's meaning. As he thrived, so too would the land. But if he ever fell to such depths of despair and wretchedness as the Fisher King... the land would suffer as well.

"Lets go," he said. "We need to get to the tower. Find out what, exactly, is going on."

**o0o**

When they had at last returned, it was to find the outside of the tower just as they had left it.... but inside.... Inside was another story.

It was clean. Very clean. It should have still been dingy and filthy and a dilapidated ruin. After all, Merlin and Arthur and Gwaine were there not too long ago... Right?

"The magic of the castle obeyed his will," Brig said. "Remember, he could control the traps and the very stones of the place. Now... What do you feel, Dagon?"

"I feel..." he started. "I feel like you're standing on my feet," he said. But she was clearly a few feet away from him. "This is bizarre."

"You'll need to learn to control it I guess," she said with a shrug as they began to explore the familiar yet strange place they had been calling home.

When they came upon the throne room, finding the trap that had been triggered by Merlin and his friends, it was to see an empty seat in the grand hall. The trident was missing - gone to sit uselessly in a vault beneath Camelot as proof to an unworthy king that his son had the right to rule after him.

Brig took his pack from him before he went further into the room, drawn to the ancient throne upon which his predecessor had spent so many years. The wood shined as if freshly polished. The stone looked as if freshly carved. And indeed, it might have been through the magic of the tower itself. For rather than a trident flanked by two fish carved into the ancient chair's high back, there was instead a phoenix with wings spread as if about to take flight.

A symbol of rebirth, of resurrection.

And was that not who he was? What he was?

For the first time since he had been born in Aberdeen to a data entry specialist and a Royal Marine, he straightened his back and squared his shoulders. Brig was digging in his pack somewhere behind him as he took the final few steps to the throne and then, with all the dignity and grace that came with a lifetime of being groomed to replace his father as king, Dagon sat upon the ancient chair.

And Brig came forward with the wooden crown, now green and sporting leaves, flowers, and berries in place of glittering jewels and precious metal. She placed it gingerly atop his head before stepping back and kneeling before him. She kept her head bowed, but when he bid her to look up at him, he could not doubt the reverence in her green eyes as she took in the sight before her. Though, her smile and her words did nothing to show the respect she obviously held for him.

"Well, now that you've got that silly crown and a big comfy chair, I suppose we'll need to come up with a decent name for his royal arse."

"You can't talk to me like that anymore," he said, trying for serious and failing miserably.

"Well someone's got to until your proper match comes along. Don't worry, sire, I'll keep you plenty humble until Emrys can be at your side again."

He smiled at her, a genuine smile. "Thank you, Brigid. For everything you've done to help me. And everything you still have yet to do."

"You can start by telling me to stand up and then giving me a better set of rooms, sire."

**o0o**

And he did.

And she loved the view.

**o0o**

Day by day the land began to heal. And day by day Dagon's connection to it became stronger. Brig searched the library with Grettir's assistance to find ways to help him cope before it could drive him mad.

But it was not until he woke in the dead of night, running in his night clothes for the throne room that an answer was discovered. Or rather... given to him.

Standing there in the throne room was the old woman Mother Spindle, her hands reverently roaming over the wood of the ancient throne. Her fingers seeking out the new carvings it had taken upon itself. Feeling the engravings of feathers and flames with a quiet smile on her face.

"Old Mother," Dagon said, crossing the threshold quickly to wrap her in his arms only to find she was not there. Not truly.

"I am sorry, child," she said softly, and when she turned her face to him he saw... Her eyes were... they were open and whole. And such a brilliant golden color. "But I had a promise to keep."

"What is this? What has happened?"

"Can you not see it... oh you're more handsome than I imagined you to be. I saw your face in my visions, of course. But to see you with my own eyes..."

"You've died, haven't you?"

She nodded. "I've always told you that you had potential."

"It's driving me mad. I can hardly sleep. Every movement of a rabbit. Every beat of wings. I can hear the grass growing and feel the wind in the trees as if I were standing there myself. Please... please tell me what to do. I can't stand it!"

"I know. That is why I have come. There is an ancient ritual that for our people was symbolic. We performed it each time we were forced to move to a new land. A new place to make our home. It was our way of keeping our culture alive. Keeping our traditions and the ways of or long lost people from being forgotten."

"Tell me. Please, I'll do anything to bring me peace enough to sleep."

She placed a ghostly hand upon his cheek and he resisted the urge to press against the hand that wasn't truly there. "Speak with my daughter and she will prepare you. Our people have heard the call of their home and are on their way to our ancestral lands. You will feel them when they arrive. Go to them and take part in the ritual. It will settle your mind and bring you peace."

"Old Mother, I must ask... If this is the last time I will ever see you, I must know... What was the final vision you have to give me? I was not ready then. Am I ready now?"

She was so sad at that moment. Her golden eyes closed as she let out the ghostly equivalent of a sigh. Then she nodded. "You must hide your kingdom to those in the south. Uther Pendragon will not suffer sharing a border with a kingdom of magic and while he rules Camelot you are vulnerable. Only when Uther has passed can you make yourself known and begin the process of change. But you must not interfere in the fate of Arthur Pendragon. He must die by the hand of Mordred the Kingslayer. If Arthur should live, you will never gain the trust of Emrys and a darker future than what you have known will come to pass. If Arthur lives, Morgana will win and Emrys will fall."

"Truly?"

"This is what the goddess has shown me. Change what can be changed. But leave the rest to Fate. This is the way Destiny broken can be repaired."

"Thank you," he said, attempting once more to reach for her. His hands went right through the old woman's spirit. She smiled at him and leaned in, rising to kiss his cheek. He felt a slight coldness, a tingle, and then it was gone.

"Do me one more favor, child. An old woman's dying wish."

"Anything."

"Find someone to fuck. You look absolutely miserable."

When Grettir and Brig found him the following morning in the throne room, it was to see him still laughing with tears in his eyes.


	4. The Land and the King

Brig had described the ritual to him. He had come to accept and even participate in a lot of odd things the warrior druids had done over the years. He had lost any sense of privacy even before he had regained his memories of his past life in Camelot. When a lot of men and women were packed in tight quarters for long periods of time, you either have to give up your ideas of modesty or life in His Majesty's Armed Forces would be very difficult for you.

But that didn't change the fact that what she described bordered on the edge of even what he considered inappropriate. "You want me to what?"

"Well... You don't HAVE to be the one to do it, but if what my mother's ghost says is true... it might not hurt."

"No. I won't do it."

"Sire," Grettir said moments before he slid an ancient scroll up onto the table in front of Dagon. "After listening to your companion's description, it reminded me of a ritual I read about once."

"Not you too!"

"Read it, sire. I know the old king taught you our ancient language. If you have difficulty I'm sure I could help you along."

Dagon sighed and let his head drop forward to smack against the ancient library table with a resounding crack. It was loud enough to make both Brig and Grettir wince at the impact. For a few moments they thought he had successfully knocked himself out, but were proven wrong when a long, annoyed groan began. And it lasted quite a long time before finally his shoulders drooped in defeat and he sat up. There was a large red mark on his forehead and a resigned look in his blue eyes. "Fine," he muttered. "If it makes me stop noticing every single time the wyverns start mating, I'll do whatever I have to do."

Brig grinned, and Grettir shook his head and slid the scroll closer to his new king.

**o0o**

Brig was surprised to learn a few days later that the ritual her tribe performed was one of three such rituals. The Binding of the Land.

The remaining two had been the Merging of the Waters and the Mixing of the Winds.

Basically, different names for the same ritual done in three different locations that would allow him to claim mastery of his lands in full.

"Well, I'll do this one with the clan. The water one I can do at the cave. Alone."

"You need at least one person with you each time, princess," she said. "In case something goes wrong, we can't just leave you for dead."

"Then it has to be you. I don't think I could trust anyone else but your mother with something so... intimate."

"Are you certain sire? Something like this... it will bind us together in ways I cannot even begin to speculate. I don't want to accidentally end up having magic see me as your queen. Not when I know Emrys-"

"Like I said. There is no one else I trust. We've been through much together already and I could never have gotten this far without your help."

She was still hesitant, but agreed in the end. Besides, if they left it to someone else, he probably _would_ end up married before he was done.

**o0o**

A binding of sweat and blood and seed.

It seemed straightforward enough.

Sit in a tent with a blazing fire and pales of water to make steam. Throwing herbs into the flames for a purifying smoke. Everything mingle with the steam and then spending all the tedious time scraping the sweat from his body into a bowl with some foul smelling potion. It wasn't pleasant. And he really didn't want to be doing this two more times. But it was necessary to settle his link with the land.

After this, he was allowed to bathe in a nearby stream and he was so thankful for the cool water that he didn't even care that the entire clan was watching his every move. Brig trailed along behind him, tending him. She served him fruit and berries from the land, and gave him fresh water to wash it down with. He needed anything, and she made sure she was the one to fetch it for him. To give it to him. No one dared get close to the warrior turned king.

And then as night fell and the clan gathered around the fire, the elders called on the goddess to bless the land. And those who also took part in the ritual of binding themselves to the land came forward, and their attendants presented them with a knife. Some cut their fingers, others their entire hands. But Dagon had to do it differently. The scroll was very specific about this aspect and what was required of him. He made the first of what would be three shallow cuts over his heart, and Brig came forward with the bowl from earlier in the day, pressing it to his flesh to catch the blood that trailed down his skin. She pressed to squeeze just a little more. And then, she took a clean cloth and wiped it before applying a paste to stop the bleeding. Then a bandage made to stick to the flesh with a sticky sap to seal it and keep the dirt out.

The elders chanted a new chant. And drinks were passed around.

But those taking part in the ritual drank only water. Ate only what was gathered from the land as men and women began dancing around the bonfire. Songs were sung and great deeds were recounted. Stories that Dagon had never heard before were told of the great journey across the sea from Elmet and leaving their fate to the gods of the waters and skies.

Brig leaned in and quietly told him that each time they moved camp, this ritual was done. And these stories were told, getting longer and longer with each new place. But now... now the tale could finally have an ending. Because now, thanks to him, they were at last allowed to come home.

When all the tales were told and songs sung and great deeds recounted... When some wandered off in pairs or groupings to seek a more private or intimate setting to continue their private parties, the elders called the ritual participants together again. Into each bowl presented they added dirt from the land and ash from the fire. They chanted and their eyes glowed before they told them to go. Follow magic's call and when the goddess commanded they stop, they must stop and complete the ritual and bind the clan to their new home.

They traveled most of the night through the forests. Each step Dagon took, the flora seemed to perk up. The land seemed to come alive more and more with his mere presence. It was a little unsettling to be quite honest.

And then, he felt it. A sudden... sense of peace. Like he had felt coming out of the waters at the cave oasis.

"We stop here," he said to the woman trailing along behind him with the pack of supplies.

"Would you like... someone else to attend you, sire?"

"Having second thoughts helping me through this?"

"No. It's just... This part has always made me a little uncomfortable."

"Then you need not watch. I would never make you sit through something that makes you-"

"No. I have to remain. There has to be someone present to attend you," she said softly as she carefully offered him the bowl she carried.

He accepted it, watching the murky liquid swirl around with disgust. "I don't have to drink this do I? The scroll wasn't exactly forthcoming with how this is meant to be used."

"No. You don't need to drink it. Just hold it for a moment," she said as she unshouldered the pack and went off a little way to make camp. He stood where she left him, naked and nervous in the forest until she returned with a mask in hand and one on her own face.

He looked at her quizzically, but said nothing as she approached. "I'm going to tie this on," she said softly when she was in his personal space again. "It's... I made this for you some time ago but I did not think the day would come when it would ever be used."

"What is it?"

"A phoenix," she said as she moved around behind him. "I thought it fitting given the crest that appeared in the tower when we returned." She reached around and put the mask over his face, carefully bringing the strings back and knotting them together. It was a snug, slightly tight fit, but it needed to be.

"Have you done this?"

"No," she said. "But I have attended a few times before. For those who chose to do it this way."

"Thank you," he said simply. "Now what do I do with this?"

She moved around in front of him and took the bowl again, smirking at him. "Now," she said, then spit in the bowl and swirled it around with her finger. "You play with your little sword until it's ready to spit in the bowl. While chanting, sire. Then, I take this to a tree and paint a rather randy looking picture with it."

"You're kidding!"

"I could always paint myself with what's in it now and we fuck like rabbits in spring if you'd rather. Much more potent that way, but I'd rather not end up your wife."

**o0o**

She gave him a sleeping draught when all was said and done. He didn't wake until late in the morning to the smell of roasting rabbit.

When he'd woken up and cleaned himself off as best as he could, she cautioned him not to take off the mask just yet. It was obvious she still had her own on, as well. "Not until we're back with the clan," she said. "It's tradition."

He doubted that, but was too tired to argue.

She led him to a tree after lunch, and sure enough painted on its bark was a rather lewd sort of stick man, if a stick man could have been considered lewd. With wings even. And a childish attempt at a fingerpainted crown above his head.

"I've never been any good at that, but I think it gets the point across quite well. Don't worry. It's not permanent. It'll wash off with the rain and soak into the earth."

"What even is the point in all this?"

She shrugged. "Magic is weird. It asks us to do strange things, and we do them because they work. How? Why? Who knows. I just call it an offering to the gods and go along my merry way. How'd you sleep last night?"

"A little easier, actually. But that could have been the draught."

She nodded her agreement before they returned to camp. He was finally allowed to get dressed, though all she had was her cloak.

**o0o**

As they re-entered the druid camp, hands reached out and touched him with reverence. A light touch here. A lingering touch there. He had not seen such adoration in the eyes of anyone since his days as prince of Camelot. Then later her king.

"Does this normally happen after..."

"No. Never," she whispered back to him.

It wasn't until they were led to the circle of elders in the center of the camp that they saw why. Where the night before was a blazing bonfire there now was a large wooden chair. It was rooted to the ground and made of solid oak. It appeared to have been grown this way, which in itself was strange. It had the same etchings and designs as the chair in the throne room of the tower he now called his home. The difference, however, were the large wooden wings that seemed to grow out of the back of the chair. Wings spread out as if about to take flight. The wood... the bark grew upon it in such a way that it looked like feathers. Golden bark and orange bark and deep bloody red bark. All of it was...

"When we woke this morning," one of the elders said. "This had replaced the remnants of the feasting fire."

He turned to Brig who nodded, and then she knelt before him. "My King."

As if they had been waiting for the cue, the men and women who had captured him years ago on the road to Camelot now dropped to their knees under his gaze. All of them murmuring the same words in their ancient language - the language he now understood so easily.

He looked back to the opulent throne and moved forward, seating himself upon it and arranging the borrowed cloak to protect his dignity. But the people didn't care. He could feel the contented hum of the magic of the land where before it had been a chaotic noise. A cacophony of movement and sound and color and a blinding torrent in the back of his thoughts. It was still there - still loud - but less distracting.

Crowns of flowers were left at his feet all afternoon and evening. Feasting tables were brought and trays laden with foods and wines and the best the clan had to offer. The hunters and the warriors squabbled over who caught the best game. He was brought clothes and robes and handmade jewelry.

Some of the younger lads and ladies tried to get a bit handsy and got Brig's sword to the throat for their troubles.

"Can I take this mask off now, it kinda itches."

"I'm surprised you haven't already," she'd replied with a laugh and a smile, yet made no move to take off her own.

**o0o**

When Grettir heard the news of the inexplicable throne of oak in the druid grove, he was ecstatic and began preparations for the next ritual to be done the following month.

**o0o**

During the time between rituals, Dagon found he did sleep easier. He still felt the land, and everything in it, but it was muted. Only when those who had hostile intentions in their hearts crossed his borders did he sense the urgency of his land's magic nagging at him. By the time he and Brig had ridden out to the border, the warriors of the grove had already handled the bandits quite easily.

Dagon named them his border protectors, their chief purpose was to guard his border against threats from outside the kingdom and to help those who come seeking refuge and safety.

It was a role they relished, finally finding a purpose for their skills and talents.

**o0o**

The second ritual, at the hidden waterfall cave, went much quicker than the first since it was just the two of them alone.

When it was over, there was a throne of crystal rising from the water with the same inexplicable designs. The crystal wings shone bright as they caught the sunlight filtering in from above. Warm, golden yellow. A fiery bright orange. And a deep, bloody red.

Sitting upon the throne of crystal, he could feel the currents of the waters. The rivers and streams that carved their way across his kingdom from the mountains to the sea. It was exhilarating and calming at the same time. And he felt connected to the oak grove where his druid clan called home. The connection to the land was stronger, but with a thought he was able to mute it easier than he had been before after the first ritual.

**o0o**

When they came within sight of the Tower, they noticed first that the abandoned town around it wasn't so abandoned anymore.

There was magic being used everywhere. Houses centuries old being repaired and rebuilt. Wagons laden with food and medicines for sale or barter.

It was...

"It's a proper village," he'd said in surprise. "They're turning the place into a real village. Where did they come from?"

"They heard magic's call, sire," Brig said as she slowed her horse, riding alongside him as they made their way up the winding path to the tower. "They know here they will be safe. Safe from Cenred's abuse. Safe from Uther's persecution. Elmet was a kingdom founded on magic and freedom. You give us all hope for a better future."

When they returned to the tower, it was to find Grettir waiting for them just inside the doors. He stood with a pillow across both his hands, and Dagon's wooden crown upon it. But now the strange flowers had gone from plant to crystal - retaining their shapes and the realism of their appearance. But where before they had been soft to the touch and pliant they were now hardened and stiff. Yet they were no less beautiful.

"Oak," Brig had said as Dagon took the crown from the pillow, tracing his fingers along the etchings that had appeared in the wood. "Crystal," she had said when he touched one of the flowers. "I hate to see what the berries turn into when we're done."

**o0o**

The last ritual was done two months later on the night of a new moon from a mountain top that Dagon had felt drawn to.

There, in the loneliness of the mountains, was now a throne of stone with veins of copper, silver, and gold threaded through it, outlining the feathers of the phoenix motif that followed them through.

When he had sat upon the lonely throne, he could feel the magic in the very air around him. His eyes were open to the auras of every living thing. He could see the colors of magic as they swirled around him and Brig. He felt... connected not just to the land but to everything. He could see the potential in the world.

With eyes ringed in green, the color of the magic that bound his life force to the land, he gasped. With just a passing thought he was in Camelot - but he wasn't. He was still upon the mountain top. And yet he could see through the eyes of another T he familiar rooms of the prince's chambers. The boring scrolls on the grain stores and when he looked up - but he wasn't looking up - he saw the golden glow of magic in the corner of the room.

There, hunched over with a rag and a pot of polish, was Merlin. Sitting on a low stool near the hearth and toiling away as Arthur sat going over reports. It was such an innocuous scene. An innocent one that he had seen hundreds, thousands of times before.

And to his newly opened eyes Merlin's magic was so.... bright. And so beautiful. Untouched by the darkness that had so consumed him near the end of his life.

Upon the lonely mountain top, with only his ever loyal companion Brig there to see it, Dagon closed his eyes, breaking himself away from such a vision, and he wept.

**o0o**

Miles away, on a peaceful if otherwise boring night Prince Arthur, ruling Regent of Camelot frowned and wiped at his face with his sleeve, finding when he pulled his arm away that it was slightly damp with tears he didn't remember shedding.

"Are you alright Arthur?"

"Of course," the prince said, hiding his eyes by pretending to rub at the soreness in them. Perhaps his father's condition was truly getting to him worse than he'd believed. "Shouldn't you be done by now? You've been polishing that same pauldron for two hours."

"Do you intentionally muddy up your armor when you're in a foul mood or do you just like making my job harder out of spite?" the belligerent manservant asked, receiving an empty ink pot to the shoulder in reply. But it wasn't thrown with too much force, otherwise it would have actually hurt. "I mean, do you do it out of spite, _sire_?" he reiterated with a note of sarcasm to his voice. It was enough to push the frown from his friend's face, even for a little while.

**o0o**

Running an entire kingdom was more... hectic than he remembered. Pilgrims made their way to Elmet from the north and from the east. Those coming from Camelot and the lands further south tended to make their way to Mercia first.

But the rebirth of Elmet was not met without some resistance from their neighbors - in particular Deira and Mercia to the east, and Rheged to the north.

Extensive research and the testing of his control over the forces of the land itself proved that whatever enchantments were in place before Elmet's fall under the rule of the Fisher King, they had now been renewed and strengthened. Forces of hostile intent could not cross his borders without suffering some kind of damage or penalty.

It was not until the king of Rheged had sent a messenger under a flag of peace across the border that anyone learned why it was the border was constantly being tested there.

Rheged's king believed the Perilous Lands belonged to him and the kingdom had claimed it so for over a hundred years.

The messenger brought the demands of King Umber VII to relinquish HIS lands or face certain death.

At the advice of an elder of his clan, he sent a druid messenger to the queen of Deira, and another to Bayard of Mercia. Both were druids formerly of Camelot. Both bearing gifts for each ruling monarch with a letter of peace written in Dagon's own hand.

From Deira he was invited to meet at the border. After a period of extended correspondence and negotiation of course. From Mercia he received a curt reply denouncing their existence as fugitive sorcerers from Camelot, but no open declaration of war.

"That's the best we could have hoped from King Bayard. Now that he knows of our existence, he will likely instead banish magic users from his kingdom rather than imprison them," one of the old druids - not from his clan - on his newly formed council had said.

"But his treaty with Camelot states he has to-"

"True. And he would not want to risk Uther's ire even though he is currently.... not well. But at the same time he has never enjoyed executing people. Especially those who are only guilty of using their gifts to benefit their communities. A healer curing disease is far more useful than one that doesn't."

**o0o**

By the time news had spread that Uther had died and Arthur was now king, Elmet was flourishing. Peasant camps had, with the aid of magic, become peasant villages. Ruins across the kingdom had become towns. The fields, while still partially wild, were starting to fill with crops.

He would go out on rides to survey the land - not that he needed to with his life force linked to the land itself - and see the people that had chosen to come and settle in the relative safety of his kingdom. When they would see him, they would hide their magic from his sight until he would smile and lift a hand, calling the grass to grow and the flowers to bloom.

He would meet with the oldest settlers in each area, introducing himself to them simply as Dagon, to which Brig - ever at his side - would inform them he was far more than just Dagon. He was the king of Elmet, chosen by the land herself. They would take supper together and talk long into the nights of the troubles of the settlement. The problems the people were running from and what Dagon expected of them in return for being allowed to remain.

Honesty. Loyalty. Care for the land and use their magic for the good of all. Only use it to harm if they had no other choice, for everyone needed the ability to defend themselves from harm and attack.

Before he would leave the settlements he would ask where all could hear that they choose from among themselves someone to send to the king's tower to represent them on his council. When they have a problem they were write to their chosen councilman. Their councilman would plead their case to the king, and it would save the people the trouble of long and tedious travel they might not be able to afford - in coin, in time, or both. He would also always ask that those who wished to protect their settlement come forward and be counted. He would ensure they were trained to use a sword or whatever weapon they chose. He would ensure they were taught to use their magic to defend their homes and community. The best of them would be taken for further training to, hopefully, become knights. No matter their station, no matter their birth.

His council grew, as did the ranks of warrior hopefuls who wished to become knights in his service.

Small roadside shrines started popping up here and there for different gods and goddesses. It was common to see his people leaving bread or milk and cheese, even berries from the nearby brush, as offerings. Taverns, too, where offerings to the wine gods were as frequent as the bards who sang their songs for a pint.

**o0o**

Before leaving for the border meeting with the queen of Deira, Dagon decided he wanted to hold a ceremony that was open to the public.

After hours of tireless research in the underground library with Grettir, he finally found what he was looking for. It wasn't so different than Camelot, but he wanted to make sure he did things properly.

It was hard to hide what he was doing from Brig. But he managed with the help of the women folk in what became known simply as Kingstown, the sprawling town that had sprung up at the base of the hill upon which the king's tower sat. By the time his friend realized something was up, she was already being fitted for new clothes.

When she protested, Dagon rolled his eyes and told her to make sure she took a bath before the end of the week. A proper bath in an actual tub of warm water.

Men and women were surprised late one evening by the king himself summoning them to the armory where Dagon with Grettir's assistance demonstrated the basics of how to put on and take off armor. "I can't expect any of you to go out there and protect our people without also making sure you are also protected."

Grettir made notes on who needed alterations to their armor based on sizes and their weapons. For archers, they needed less restrictive pieces to allow quick movement of their arms, or to better crouch in trees and high places. That kind of thing. These notes he took to the blacksmiths in the town and the forges worked through the week.

On another day Brig was hauled off by one of the people hired to work in the library and records rooms and sat down with basic texts and blank parchments.

"What is the meaning of this! I'm not a child!" she had angrily railed at him one morning after training.

He shrugged. "You're my closest companion. You are essentially the right hand of the king. Because of this, you need to learn to read and write more than basic runes and symbols. There will be times when I may be ill or incapacitated. I may need to send you somewhere as my representative. These are skills you will need as the First Knight of Elmet."

"The what?"

"You heard me the first time. Honestly, if I thought you'd go for it I'd make you at least a princess of the kingdom. It's the least I could do to honor everything you've done for me over the years."

"I.... I'd be in command of your knights? Your guards? The army?"

"Yes. Second only to me and, hopefully one day Emrys himself."

She eventually agreed to stop fighting him and her tutor about the lessons.

**o0o**

"Are you ready for this, Sire?" Grettir asked as the servant helped Dagon into the parts of his armor he couldn't handle himself.

"Not particularly but time waits for no man." He took the sword before the servant could even touch the scabbard and fastened it at his hip himself. "Never touch this sword," he said sternly to the boy.

"My apologies sire I-"

"It's alright. Now you know for the future, yes? This is the only piece of my personal armor and weaponry that you are to never touch." His tone was softer as he turned to fetch something from a drawer in his desk. When he turned back, he had his fist closed around something. "Open your hands, Joxer," he said.

The boy did so, and he dropped a few coppers into his open hands. Brown eyes went wide in surprise.

"When you leave here, I want you to go into Kingstown and buy yourself some of Old Mag's lavender and honey cakes. As many as you like. Now off you go. You've the rest of the day off to join in the celebrations. But I expect you back here tomorrow morning bright and early to help the packing for our trip to the border."

The boy closed his hands over the copper coins and nodded eagerly before bolting from the king's chambers. Grettir shook his head with a knowing smile. "You're going to spoil your servants."

"Good. It means they'll be motivated to work harder for better rewards," he said as he adjusted the belt at his waist, then the sword on his hip. "How do I look?"

"Like a nob," Grettir replied with a smirk. "My apologies," he said when Dagon raised a brow. "A royal nob, your majesty."

He sighed and shook his head. "How I always end up surrounding myself with people like Merlin I'll never know..." he muttered before reaching towards the crown on his desk and settling it atop his head. It was heavier, now, than it had been when the Fisher King had first placed it there. The flowers and leaves had turned to crystals. The berries had become beads of swirling precious metals. And while the crown was still made of wood and still held the texture of bark, it shone like bronze when the light caught it just right. Forever changed after he had performed the final part of the three fold ritual to bind himself to the land, and the land to him.

It took no time at all to reach not the throne room, but the courtyard just inside the tower's outer gates. There was a platform erected, and a stand-in for his throne was placed at the back of it. It was the first knighting ceremony in Elmet for hundreds of years.

And by the gods, Dagon was going to make a spectacle of it for the people who chose to come here. Chose to submit themselves to him and accept his rule over them. For many who had fled the other kingdoms, most came from the south but others from the harsh north - they deserved a day of feasting and celebration. And they deserved to bear witness to the king honoring his words to them. That anyone with the desire to serve the kingdom may become a knight.

That anyone with the skill may count on their merit to help them rise to greatness.

**o0o**

At the feast, Brig couldn't stop smiling. She, like the others knighted that day, now wore a band of bronze on her right bicep, clasped over her sleeve. It was made to look like oak wood, with the kingdom's crest - the king's phoenix - etched into it. It was a badge of honor. A sign of his faith in those he'd chosen to help him protect the people and the land.

She looked from where she stood chatting with some of the ladies of court towards where Dagon stood at the head table, laughing at some story one of the young men from the coastal villages had told him and anyone nearby. "He looks quite happy over there, doesn't he?" she said aloud without realizing it.

"I still can't believe he let commoners be knights. No king in all the south would."

"And this is not the south," Brig said as she turned back to the ladies. "Nor is it the north. And his majesty is no ordinary king."

"He's magic," one woman said.

"Aye. He is. But that's not what I meant. He's had a hard road to get here. He was like you and me once. He was found in Mercia, near a little village called Traveler's Fork, with not a stitch of clothing nor could he even remember his name..." she began. Her face flush with drink and the warmth of a good time she launched into a story that she didn't realize would be told time and time again. Changing a little in each telling.

A story that would, eventually, make its way to Camelot.

**o0o**

The road to the border with Deira was uneventful. Bandits weren't really an issue in Elmet - yet - due to the protective magics in place on the land. Magic Dagon didn't put there but was glad it existed. He didn't think his kingdom was strong enough or his knights and soldiers trained well enough to defend against invasion. Yet.

The only thing of note, really, was the oddness Dagon felt after accepting a gift from Brig, who'd been given it by the court Seer. The one chosen in the clan to replace Mother Spindle.

It was a ring. Plain of design and made of silver which he wore upon the index finger of his right hand. It was enchanted to alter the perception of his appearance to others who did not know what he looked like already. It came with a reminder that had become one of the base rules by which he did everything. There could be only one Arthur Pendragon... and he wasn't him. It wouldn't do to look like the man.

"It's odd," Brig had said after he had slipped it on. "I see the face of the enchantment... but I don't at the same time. I see you as you have always been. And yet I see a different man all at once."

He'd taken it off, and she sighed. "I see it now. If I don't think about the man behind the spell, then I see what everyone else is meant to see. But knowing what I _should_ see, my mind forces my eyes to look past it."

He thought about that conversation as they traveled the road. He kept the ring on, getting used to the strangeness and allowing his men to get used to it as well.

Dagon had chosen his personal guard carefully. Aside from Brig, there were twelve others. One man or woman from each of the major settlements of the kingdom. The best of each batch of warriors that had been knighted.

**o0o**

The scouts that Dagon had sent ahead of them before they broke camp had reported that the destination ahead wasn't a village exactly. There was a village, as the Queen of Deira had stated in her letters, but there was also an elaborate 'tent city' set up, similar to what one expected of visiting knights participating in a tournament of sorts.

Indeed when Dagon came upon the city of tents, it was just as he had expected from the scouts' descriptions. He signaled to his knights to keep an eye out. While he would like to assume good faith, this many tents and this many armed knights he was spotting around the area could have meant a potential attack. After all, a fledgling kingdom that suddenly had excellent farmland and resources such as his - many resources that had sat untouched for hundreds of years - it would make sense to invade while Elmet was still new and weak. And if they couldn't get across the border, luring the king out would be a good plan B.

Brig signaled for them to stop when they reached the village square, a gathering of men and women in fine but foreign dress were waiting to greet them.

And rather than a queen, there stood a man with a circlet - the make and type one that Dagon was familiar with. He wore something similar to Arthur while Uther had taken ill after Morgana's disappearance.

He was the first to dismount, followed closely by Brig. The rest of the knights stayed mounted, along with the servants.

Brig stopped long enough to pull a scroll from her pack and stepped ahead of her king, offering the scroll to a servant near the man wearing the circlet. When the scroll was taken, she took a step back as Dagon came forward. He gave a nod of his head - out of respect - but refused to bow low. After all, the man he met was no king, but deserved some show of respect. "Greetings," he said after. "I am Dagon Oakenheart, King of Elmet."

The man looked him up and down before taking the scroll and breaking the seal. He glanced at the parchment, scrutinizing it carefully before passing it back to his servant. "Your patent seems in order," he replied, giving a curt nod. It was not what protocol dictated. A regent, though given the ability to rule in place of a monarch, was not of the same status. Not truly. A nod was meant among equals. A half-bow would have been more appropriate and much less insulting.

Dagon narrowed his eyes, but put a hand out to stay Brig's hand as she reached for her sword. "I'm certain," he said, making a show of pretending to speak to her alone, but letting his voice carry. "That no insult was meant. We are on a mission of peace, Sir Brig. Do not draw unless you intend to use it."

"As you will it, Sire," she said through clenched teeth, removing her hand.

Dagon smiled falsely as he took in the crowd behind the regent in front of him. "It is a fine welcome," he said louder. "But I must confess that I was expecting to meet with the Queen of Deira herself, as was assured in her own hand."

"Forgive me but my aunt has taken ill of late and was unable to make the journey so far from home."

"Ah. Then it is fortunate she has such a dutiful nephew to step in and help her with matters of state."

"Quite."

Internally, Dagon groaned. This was not going to go well no matter how hard he tried. He could only pray that his knights didn't take offense on his behalf and decide to handle matters themselves.

**o0o**

It was a show of force, that he knew.

And negotiations were going nowhere.

That, he also knew.

Prince Regent Gerard pushed for an unfavorable deal, and kept pointing out that as a new and fledgling kingdom - which was suddenly in lands that had been disputed between Rheged and Deira for centuries - couldn't afford to turn down such a powerful ally's demands.

And Dagon politely informed him that he wasn't going to sign something that made him a vassell rather than an ally.

Talks were breaking down quickly and there seemed to be no way to salvage them.

Until...

"Princess," Brig said as she burst into his room at the inn. "I don't have time to explain, but you need to grab that sword, throw on some clothes, and come with me now."

The wild look in her eyes told him all he needed to know. IT wasn't the first time she'd come to him like this - nor would it be the last he was certain. He quickly dressed, pulling on his jerkin as he headed for the door.

"not that way. This way," she said, moving to the window and throwing it open. "Out. Now."

As he'd dressed, she had grabbed a bag and filled it with a few important items. His crown, some scrolls, and his few personal effects.

Together they climbed out the window. Using magic, she shut it back. Just in time, too, as they heard the door burst open and soldiers inside swearing in anger.

"I knew it," Dagon hissed. "Too many knights."

"We may have to fight our way out."

"Perhaps," he said, then signaled for them to go before they were spotted.

**o0o**

Their horses were gone. Only half of them had armor. But everyone had a weapon.

Brig used magic to keep the bag closed tight.

It wouldn't do if the most trusted knight and closest person to the king lost all his shit now would it?

The Knights of Elmet had fled into the tent city, ducking and hiding, fighting only when they must, until they reached the wood. Most of them having been druids and hunters, it was easy to lose their pursuers by falling back on what they knew best.

When Dagon and Brig appeared among them, they were relieved to see their king had made it out alive.

"Sire," one man said, coming close and clasping him on the shoulder. "We are relieved to see you. When Joxer came to Sir Brig and told her of the attempt on your life-"

"Wait... what?"

"It's true, Sire," she said. "I ordered the servants to scatter. Many of them come from the druid camps. They are good at hiding in the forest from knights and bandits. It was the lad Joxer who overheard a couple of the Deiran soldiers talking. I was spending time with the lads, assigning duties before I was to join you at the inn. It was by chance I happened to be there when he came for help."

"We need to leave. If we get back across the border they won't be able to pass so long as they hold ill intent," one knight said, sparking debate and argument among them. Some wanted to turn back and slit their treacherous throats. Others wanted to send off for reinforcements.

It was Dagon himself that broke the chatter. "We remain," he said, a hand on his sword. "There is more at work here, I feel, than we can see. The Queen, by all accounts, is an honorable woman. This nephew of hers... I cannot say. Thus far he has been antagonistic and downright insulting throughout our negotiations. I refuse to bend the knee to him, and he wants my land."

"Sire, they tried to kill you!"

"And it would not be the first attempt on my life. I am made of sterner stuff than they, as are you. And we have what they do not."

"What's that then?"

He glanced at Brig, his mouth slowly forming a smile. "Magic," he said simply. "You there, Sir Tybold. Take Lias and fetch the servants. Those with magic are to be brought to me. Those without are to remain hidden until I give the order. I want no senseless deaths to report back home if I can help it."

"What do you plan to do, sire?"

"Make a damn good example of what happens to those who double cross me. I came here in good faith, and that faith was broken. I was attacked and this is us defending ourselves and the interests of our people. I have but two commands as we go into the fight. Kill no one. Do whatever you must to ensure they won't be getting back up to fight us, but do not kill."

"And the second, sire?" Brig asked.

"Leave the Prince Regent for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a LONG wait, but next chapter, Future Arthur and his ever loyal companion Brig will be visiting Camelot at long last now that Uther is dead.


	5. The First Ally of Elmet

It was guerrilla warfare.

Servants with magic acting as snipers from the trees with whatever tricks they knew that could be useful.

A gust of wind here, An invisible shove there. A cape catching fire. A sword becoming too hot to hold.

Dagon found himself feeling nostalgic as tree branches would inexplicably drop down onto the heads of Deirian soldiers.

None were killed, but only because he had ordered it so.

Cries of "SORCERERS!" were heard from the mouths of the soldiers when they had realized exactly the kind of enemies Dagon and his men were.

By the time night fell, the tent city had been burned to the ground and cages of stone replaced them.

As Dagon held the Prince Regent at sword point, kneeling before him and making him stare up his blade at the Warlock King of Elmet, he glared down at him blue eyes ringed with an angry green. "I would have your excuses, oathbreaker, lest you wish to know what life without a head is like."

The prince regent spat in his face. One of Dagon's knights cursed in one of the languages of the far north before Dagon raised his hand to stay the knight's blade.

"I'll never acknowledge a peasant king."

"A king chosen by magic who seeks only peace."

"You kill me, you declare war against Deira."

Dagon raised a brow. "Kill you? Dear lad, you're not going to die by my hand tonight. No matter how badly my knights would like to see your head on a pike. However I've found that having a royal hostage works to a much greater advantage."

With that, he smiled and stepped back, speaking in the language of magic and bringing up a stone cell to match the others. It was smaller than the rest, considering it only had one prisoner.

"My aunt will not negotiate with a man who attacks the Prince!"

"Maybe not. But at least I'll get the satisfaction of learning if she is the one behind this or you've gone and done something stupid and childish."

**o0o**

Dagon slept well that night in the woods despite the injuries his men had sustained.

They lost three servants, and Dagon himself ensured they got their burial rites - at least some basic ones - and would be honored once they returned to Elmet.

By morning, Brig was sporting a cloth tied around her head, covering half her face. "What happened to you?"

"Enchanted blade. One of the fuckers caught my eye. I was hard pressed not to kill him."

And that was that.

Until Dagon left to check the prisoners in their stone cells and found the townsfolk throwing rotten vegetables and fruit at them. They were particularly keen to make sure the Prince Regent had his daily serving. He watched for a few long moments, reminded of Merlin's early days in Camelot. Because of him the people of the lower town nearly had a cabbage shortage. When one of the lords at his father's council complained about it, he had eased off using the stocks as a punishment. For a little while.

It would be later that a serving girl from the tavern would be seen going into the forest where the visiting knights and their magical servants were camped, bringing them fresh food and offering them board in the village in return for ridding them of the Usurper.

**o0o**

Messengers had been sent to the heart of Deria to alert the queen of what took place at the border village. Though ill, and at the protests of her daughter - the rightful Heir of Deira - Queen Alana suited up for battle. She had her record keeper take stock of the official correspondence since she had taken ill and ensured copies were packed away in her belongings.

The fastest courier in the capital had been hired and sent with a message for the "Warlock King" and his knights that her nephew was not even supposed to be there, and that she herself was coming out to meet him.

It took a week of travel for her and her personal guard to reach the village, as she had to travel by carriage part of the way. But she refused to be seen by the visiting knights and king as frail and weak as she felt. And so she rode a horse the final leg of the journey.

When her honor guard caught sight of the stone cells with the knights in them, she was taken aback by the sight of them. Immediately she issued the command for two of their number to go and count the knights and take names of each one as she and the rest rode on into the center of the town.

There, waiting for her arrival with twelve knights in varied types of armor and dress, was a man with an odd looking crown atop his dark hair. One hand rested casually on the sword at his hip.

She stopped her horse ten feet from him, her guard coming up beside her. "I suppose you're responsible for my nephew's current status as hostage?"

"I am," he said. "Am I going to need a hostage in order to negotiate safe passage back to my kingdom?"

"That depends. If I allow you to return, will you declare war on Deira and her allies?"

He gripped the hilt of his sword once then took his hand off it, allowing it to drop harmlessly to his side. "I came here, invited by you, your majesty, to speak of peace. And in peace I wish to leave."

"You will release the knights into our custody," she said. "After we have learned the extent of my idiot nephew's crimes against you and your knights. Then, we will put off business until tomorrow. It was a long journey and I am quite tired."

Dagon took a few steps forward, and her guards were on high alert. "Allow me to help you down, your majesty. And we can speak over a meal together one monarch to another of what has transpired in this otherwise charming little village."

**o0o**

Things were... frosty. There was always a knight at Dagon's side when he was with the queen. And there was always a knight at hers.

From Queen Alana he learned many things as they negotiated a treaty of peace between Elmet and Deira. Such as the struggle of succession after she took ill. Her husband had ruled Deira before his untimely death and she only ever gave him a daughter. "But women, even strong ones, find it hard to rule when there are men who wish to strip them of their birth rights around," she had told him in confidence. "My daughter is not the iron maiden I once was. And though she is strong in her own ways and would make a fine ruler, her cousins conspire against her. The one still locked in your stone cage was my husband's brother's eldest son. His father had groomed him to rule when I am dead. And my illness, I fear, can be attributed to his meddling."

"Do you allow magic in your kingdom?"

"We.... have remained neutral. It seemed the best option when Uther Pendragon was burning every damn thing to the ground. Deira never outlawed it but the crown has never endorsed it either."

"Allow me to send healers to your kingdom," he said. "Not as part of the treaty, but as a friend helping a friend. Many of the druids have fled the south to come settle in my lands, and they are by far the best at the healing arts. If you wish I can also send some witches who are skilled in magic of the earth to show you better ways of working your crops and fields."

"You would do that, even though my nephew-"

"Now that I know he was committing treason against you, and intended to use me as a pawn to power for himself, I have no qualms in helping my neighbors prosper."

Queen Alana had considered his request, and told him she would need time to think about it. More than could be done in the time they had available to them at present.

"Additionally," he said to sweeten the deal. "I was informed by my council that you are the sort that prefers an equal benefit in every treaty you make. That the petitioner must provide you with something you do not currently have nor can get access easily to. I have three resources at my disposal that may interest you."

"Go on," she said, pouring herself a cup of water.

"My lands have been uninhabited by man for centuries. As such many of the natural resources are untapped. Metal in my mountains that can be used for all manner of things. Jewelry. Weapons. Building. My soldiers are also trained in a unique way, which your knights we so resoundly beat can attest to. I am willing to share some of that knowledge we gained from the Western Isle of Eire with your Loyal knights." The emphasis on loyalty was not lost on her.

"And the third?"

"I intend to build a school. A university. It will be open to all who wish to learn magic or science. Or both. Knowledge, your majesty, is power. And such power my people and I have in abundance. Those who ally with me will gain access to such a resource. Those who come will be given room and board while they study. And when they have completed their studies they may leave and spread their knowledge to others."

"You say that any who ally with you will gain the ability to learn at your school. And of the other two resources?"

"I only make this offer once," he said. "Had King Bayard been more receptive to an offer of peace and a treaty between us, I would have made the same offer to Mercia."

"And Rheged?" she pushed. "You know Umber claims your lands as his own."

Dagon's smile in return was something that sent a chill down her spine she could not explain in the days to follow. "He can bloody well try, ma'am. And he will find what my knights are truly capable of when I do not give the command of Mercy."

**o0o**

The Prince Regent was stripped of his titles. Dagon was to learn the man had crowned himself Prince Regent in an attempt to usurp the throne from his aunt and cousin. The man had pushed so hard to get Dagon to agree to become a vassal so that he could use Elmet to attack Deira and get the throne by force if he had to. But Dagon was... not what the man had expected.

When Dagon and Alana parted it was not only as rulers of neighboring kingdoms, not just as allies, but as friends.

Apparently preventing her conniving nephew from stealing her kingdom - without even meaning to do so - was the foundation upon which a friendship could be founded.

Brig, despite her injuries from the skirmish, laughed almost the entire way home.

"Only you could accidentally stop a bloody coup!" she would howl when she got a little too deep in her cups. "Hey! That rhymed! If this whole royal knight thing fails, I can always become a bard!"

**o0o**

Stories of the skirmish were spread across Deira and various versions, drunkenly embellished by Brig as they made their way back to Kingstown, spread across Elmet.

The number of soldiers and knights that Dagon had personally taken on grew in number each time. The servants who died were given more and more glorious and heroic deaths in the retellings. But always, in the versions told by Brig, the part where Dagon had asked for the help of the servants and the clear distress he showed at hearing of the deaths among their number, always remained.

Throughout Elmet he became known by the people as Dagon the Merciful. But in Deira and the lands beyond the stories of his wild Druid Knights (though not all among his 12 were druids) and the ferociousness with which the King of Elmet fought only added to the bizarre reputation of the Warlock King.

**o0o**

Dagon's councilor was proven right about Bayard's reaction to the attempt at peace and treaty. There became a steady trickle of magic users from Mercia coming into Elmet along it's south eastern border. Settlements there grew to villages and villages grew to fully fledged towns as more housing was built and traders set up stalls to ply their wares.

The councilmen from the region asked the king for help, for there were not enough resources to go around and they feared they would not be able to feed everyone when winter came. It was not an unfounded fear, as when he focused on his land and listened to the inherent magic to which his life was tied, they could support that many but it would be more difficult and put a strain on supplies in the immediate future if something wasn't done.

He gave the order to call for more warriors. More fighters. Those who accepted were to come to Kingstown. This would hopefully alleviate the swell in the populations and resettle some. After council he took Brig aside and told her he was not to be disturbed until further notice. He had much to meditate on.

**o0o**

For three days Dagon sat upon his throne with his eyes closed and in near perfect stillness. He stopped only to eat and see to his personal needs. What he was doing he could not rightfully explain to others. Not really. The closest he could do so was to say he was meditating. And in a way he was. His throne, he learned after the rituals to bind him and the land fully as one, was a grounding space. It was connected to the other three spread across his land. It allowed him to commune with the land more openly - as it was in the beginning after the Fisher King's long sought death.

Finally, after combing his kingdom for three long days, he found a long term solution.

After making himself presentable he called his council together again and proposed to the representatives from the south east his idea.

"Land to the west of the kingdom is still untouched and feral. A parcel of farmland to anyone willing to work it. Those who do not, further west still are the bare bones of a village by the sea. The Crown will provide the means to start over and enough provisions to see them through the first winter. In return, their king asks only that they send me those willing to fight. Those unwilling I ask only that they work the land they are given and revive the village that has fallen to ruin. It is my hope that by doing so our kingdom prospers and perhaps, one day, we have the finest merchant ships in all of Albion. There are lands, my friends, beyond ours that are rich in knowledge and resources that will make our lives better and easier. Lands we can only dream of. Peoples we may barter with and learn their strange tongues and new knowledge. But to get there, we must first take these baby steps."

"Can the crown afford to do so? If we raise the taxes-"

"We are a magical kingdom, Advisor Henrick! Yes it has its limits on what it can and cannot do, and yes even here in this kingdom there are restrictions on what is and is not allowed. But the Crown will find a way to provide for its subjects and it is not your place to question how, for that is MY burden and MY duty to the people that I serve! The people already give their fair share to support the kingdom in which they live. I will not ask them to give more at the risk of their own security!"

**o0o**

Advisor Henrick was dismissed a month later when Sir Ulrich's underlings reported that their families back home were struggling under the harsh taxes and their pleas for relief were answered with word that the once generous king had ordered more and more than they could afford.

Henrick's private home in Kingstown was searched and the surplus wealth the man had been stealing from the people he was meant to represent was given back to them.

It was the first high-level crime in Elmet since the kingdom had popped up, and he had given much thought to how he would handle the breaking of his laws. Even as king of Camelot he believed the punishment should fit the crime. As a product of an uncertain future, he also had what his people often termed queer ideas in how things should run. They didn't complain, usually, because much of how he ran his kingdom benefited his people. It inspired their loyalty and cooperation.

But this... this was something that could make or break him and the future he wished to create. Long into the nights he worked at his desk in his chambers. Often he asked one or two of his councilmen to remain after the meeting to discuss his ideas. To ask them to gauge the opinions of his people but not to tell them it was on behalf of their king. For he wanted honest answers. He wanted the truth.

Hours were spent in the library below the tower. Reading through ancient texts on the laws of the Old Kingdom. Each king, it seemed, had his own interpretation of the law. Much of the ancient laws he had ignored, deeming them too restrictive and too harsh for his people. He didn't find much of use in the old records, but he was able to get an idea of what he certainly didn't want.

Weeks had passed before he was ready to present his proposal to the council. He gave them one week to read through it and make notes of things they did not understand nor agree with.

**o0o**

The first trial in Elmet took place in a specially constructed building between the tower and the village. It was large enough to hold many of the public as well as the First Court of Law that was to be held. Thirteen people had been selected at random from different settlements and villages across the kingdom to sit in judgement. People from Henrick's village were invited to give testimony before the court and the king. A friend of Henrick stood in defense of the man while Sir Ulrich stood in place to represent the people and the laws of the land.

Dagon was no expert in how this sort of thing should go. But he felt it was more fair than if he alone sat in judgement of the accused. It was a foreign idea from the future - rooted if he remembered his history correctly, in Rome and Greece. Though he could be wrong on that. Regardless, despite many of the concerns of his council, he felt this was the correct move going forward. he was king, yes. He was powerful, yes. But that did not give him the right to be a tyrant. His rule depended on the goodwill of his people. By making them part of the process, it once again proved to them that he was committed to helping them. Supporting them. And they in turn supported him and the kingdom. They had little reason to rebel against him.

**o0o**

Henrick was condemned by the jury of 13.

The next question became what to do with him. They couldn't keep him in the castle dungeons forever.

"I have an idea," Dagon had said, turning to his council days after the trial had concluded. "There is an old fortress in need of repair. We are running out of room for our soldiers and knights. I propose that we set up a prison. Our soldiers and guards will find work in peacetime, and once the fortress is repaired we no longer run the risk of prisoners escaping the dungeons and seeking out those in the castle or the village for revenge."

"And what do we do if someone uses magic to escape?"

It was a sound concern. One that he knew an answer for, but not a definitive one. The answer he knew was cruel and now that he had magic - now that it had become an integral part of him and his life - to seek that answer was cruel and painful. To clap a man in magic restricting irons as Uther had done.. as Arthur had done... He could not bring himself to do so again. "I will... need to think about that. But it is something to consider. Until a solution is found, he will be held in the dungeons for the duration of his sentence or until a better solution is found.

**o0o**

Deira went to war with Northumbria.

Queen Alana called for aid.

And aid was given.

Dagon wished to ride off himself, unfortunately Rheged had started trouble at the northern border again.

It was the first time Brig had been sent to lead a portion of his army into battle.

**o0o**

When Brig returned victorious it was in the company of a Deiran knight that had taken a shine to her named Ollie.

Apparently in the two had become attached and Ollie's queen had agreed to release the knight from her service.

It wasn't until he had caught them fucking in the royal gardens that he learned Ollie was short for Olivia.

The two asked him to marry them a week later.

**o0o**

Dagon sat staring at the letter from his good friend and ally Queen Alana.

There was a copy of a letter sent to her from Camelot. Magic was used to make the copy, so that he could see it in the hand of the King.

Alana sought to invite Dagon to accompany a formal function with her. Given what she now knew of Elmet's mysterious ways and existence, and knowing that those in Camelot knew only whispers and rumour rather than solid fact that Elmet existed to their north, she did not expect him to receive the same invitation she and many of the other monarchs had.

Unable to sleep, he found himself spending time in the throne room, looking out the window towards the south. He wasn't in his nightclothes, but he didn't exactly look the part of a noble either.

His court seer, a member of his clan that had replaced Mother Spindle after her death, found him there before dawn.

"If you do not go, sire, you will regret it the rest of your life."

"What do you See? Does it change anything?"

"I See... a king with half a heart."

"Are you sure you're not just talking about me?"

"Sire... you and he are one and the same," came the response. "But now is the time to begin your campaign to win the heart and trust of Emrys."

"Truly?"

"Yes. I see two paths. If you remain, I see Elmet as the last to fall to the Darkness of Emrys. You will fight valiantly, sire, with your strange contraptions and your magic. But when the land dies, so too will you."

"And the other path?"

"If you go to Camelot, you must go as a knight and not our King."

"Why? What difference does it make?"

The seer smiled when Dagon turned to face him. "If you go as King Dagon of Elmet, known beyond these lands as the mysterious Warlock King, tensions between Elmet and Camelot will be high. Emrys will eventually come to see you as an ally, but he will not trust you. He will cling to the hope that Arthur will one day return... but with a world at peace and a bright future... that day cannot come to pass. He will not be broken by war and conflict but instead by the passage of time itself." The Seer's smile left him then. "If you visit Camelot under the guise of a knight of Deira, I See... well... it would be improper for me to say it out loud, sire, but I assure you that you and the land would be very happy indeed."

Before bed, he penned a letter to the Queen of Deira, and another to each member of his council. They, directed by Brig's wife Sir Ollie, would rule in his absence. For he had business in Camelot that needed his immediate attention.

**o0o**

It had taken some convincing, much of it when he met his fellow monarch at the border of Deira and Mercia, but she agreed to keep his secret.

For a price.

Her champion for these sorts of events had always been her nephew.

"Since you bested him yourself... You must agree to replace him, this once, as my champion in the tournament."

"Of course, but I feel that Brig will be put put."

"Unfortunately, women cannot take part in Camelot's tournaments. Uther never did like having to deal with strong women in power. We always made him look foolish."

As they traveled, with Dagon and Brig in the armor and colors of Deira, the queen regaled them with tales of Uther's youth, and his early reign after usurping the throne of Camelot from the tyrant Vortigern. Brig took great joy with every story that involved Uther being made an utter fool of by a woman smarter or stronger than him. Dagon had to admit, it did explain quite a lot about his first father and his views on the importance of nobility and honor.

"That man was no more a noble than yourself before he was made king of Camelot," the old woman had said over a meal in her tent one night after they had crossed the border of Mercia into Camelot. "I remember when he was a goddess damned palace guard in charge of protecting the grain stores! Oh he was always so bloody ambitious. But one day... one day he just.... had enough. He put down his spear, went to the blacksmith, or so he says, and demanded a sword. Rumour had it that the blacksmith wanted to know why and Uther, bold as can be - allegedly - told the man he was going to march back to the castle and kill the king. But he wasn't going to do it with a blunted spear."

"Really?!"

"That's how he always told it," she said as she picked at the fruit on her plate. "What really happened was that Vortigern had refused to send grain to a struggling village near the border, so Bayard's father sent help when their own king wouldn't. Uther had friends in that village. You'll likely be meeting some of them if King Arthur has kept any on his council," Alana said as a servant poured more wine for her, then offered some to her guests. "After this, Mercia claimed the village now belonged to them because they did what their own king refused to do. Took care of the people. When Uther found out he was so angry he quit his job as a castle guard, scraped all his savings together, and bought the best sword he could with what little he had. It was a blunt thing, but he sharpened it himself and then with naught but his guardsman armor marched off to take the village back by force."

"He what?!"

"Did it work?"

"No. He had his backside roundly beaten. But Bayard's father saw potential in him. As did my husband's. Uther was taken to Mercia, and from there to my husband's father. In return for proper training and support, Uther was made to swear that he would never raise a sword against Deira. That any conquest he sought, it would end at our borders. The North was Ours, but he could have the whole of the South if he chose."

"And did he?"

"Yes. Surprisingly Lord Eldred of Northumbria, second son of the king at the time, supported him as well. They trained together, with a few of the other lords further south. It was common for the noble families then to send their spare sons to Deira for proper knight's training."

"Why?"

"Because if the other sons outshone the heir, the people might not see him as a strong future ruler. That, and we still hold some of the old Roman fighting traditions. We retain much of what was taught to us so long ago and pass that knowledge on to the worthy. Camelot's knights are the best... in the South. But Deiran knights are made much stronger."

Brig grinned happily, and it was obvious she was slightly drunk. "So when Dag and the boys kicked your nephew's arse-"

"You won the respect of my people," she replied. "And of me. The fact that you were willing to share the methods your own warriors use and train with, well, how could I turn down such an offer? Especially after the scandal my nephew created? I would have been a fool to pass on that opportunity."

**o0o**

Dagon rode at the queen's side as they crossed the bridge into Camelot. Once again, like she had when she had first gone to meet Dagon near her border, forgone the royal carriage in favor of riding forth on a horse of her own. She had never fully recovered from the illness that had taken her down and allowed her nephew to try and seize power, with the help of healers sent by Dagon she was stronger than she had been when they made the treaty.

And it was strength that her reputation demanded of her now. Brig, wearing an eyepatch emblazoned with the crest of Deira over the eye damaged by the very same knights they rode amongst, was behind them, riding alongside the First Knight of Deira. He was called Namon. He didn't talk much, which annoyed the hell out of Brig to which she complained at every opportunity.

The sight that lay before them was one he never thought he would see again. He took a deep breath, and didn't even care about the slightly foul smells as their procession passed through the lower town towards the castle.

His heart ached as he took in the sights and smells of Camelot for the first time in... well, he had forgotten how long it had been. For him the passage of time was... not what it should have been. Not for a long time.

"I think," Queen Alana said beside him. "This is the first time I've actually seen you happy."

"What?"

"I am glad you took me up on my offer, my friend," she said. "But I think perhaps I may have done you a greater service than you are doing for me."

He opened his mouth to respond but found there was no time as the herald announced their arrival through the castle gates into the courtyard.

Turning his attention to the men and women gathered ahead, his heart skipped a beat as he looked past the king and his betrothed, the Lady Gwen, standing beside him. Big ears, goofy smile, and ugly neckerchief and all. That was the man he walked the dead earth searching for. That was the face he longed to see for so many years instead of the crazed, mad grand sorcerer he had been forced to put down like a rabid animal.

So wrapped up in his own thoughts was he that he did not see the change in the servant's eyes when they fell on him. Nor the slight stiffness that came into his posture as he stood behind his king and future queen.


	6. The Meeting of Emrys and the Warlock King

Dagon stood beside Queen Alana, with Brig and Namon behind them, in witness to the marriage of the King of Camelot to his chosen Queen. It was a beautiful ceremony, he had to admit. Seeing it as an outsider rather than a participant was also strange for him. He had believed he had worked through his lingering feelings for her when faced with the reality that even in the next life, she and Lancelot had been destined for one another. He had thought he left his thoughts of Gwen as his wife in the past with Camelot.

And yet...

To watch her marry Arthur - himself - he couldn't help the slightest pang of jealousy. The idea of being jealous of himself was ridiculous. He knew that. Especially since it was not to see Gwen that had prompted his visit to Camelot now. No. It was the servant standing at the front of the crowd next to the court physician. A place that Merlin, he swore, still didn't understand was meant for family and those closest to the king. Uther certainly wouldn't have allowed a servant to stand front row AND be given the day off to enjoy the celebrations.

And yet Merlin, he remembered, STILL insisted on personally attending to Arthur and Gwen that evening at the feast.

Later Alana would contemplate the strange, sad look she had seen on her friend's face during the ceremony. But not now. Not as he clapped and cheered the newly crowned queen of Camelot and her husband on their special day.

**o0o**

Merlin was not happy.

Which was odd because he should have been thrilled for his best friend and Gwen. Despite the fact he felt like his heart had been ripped out watching them exchange vows.

He only had himself to blame, after all, for pushing Arthur towards her.

But a strong king needed a strong queen and there was no one Merlin trusted to fill that role more than Gwen. Gwen could cool the man's dragon-like temper when Merlin could not.  But most of all... Gwen could give him the things Merlin couldn't. Things only a queen could.

But that was only one of the reasons for his unhappy mood behind the closed doors of Gaius's chambers.

The time before the feast should have been spent helping in the kitchens. Or helping Arthur get ready - but he'd been dismissed for the day! Told to take it easy and celebrate with everyone else!

So instead here he was, pulling book after book off the shelves and flipping through them searching for anything that could explain what he saw ride into the courtyard the day before with the Queen of Deira. Because he sure as hell knew it couldn't be Arthur. Even though the man looked like Arthur. But with different hair.

Way different hair.

And paler skin.

Yup. It had to be magic. Problem was...

"Are you STILL looking for the answer to something only you can see, Merlin?"

The question from Gaius caught him so off guard he nearly fell off the ladder at the shelves.

"For the last time Merlin, Sir Dagon doesn't look a thing like the king!"

"I don't know why YOU can't see it but-"

"He does look a little like Uther, but that's not all that surprising considering the man and his dalliances before marriage. He did spend a long time in the kingdom of Deira before overthrowing Vortigern."

"So... he could be Arthur's secret brother come to take the throne for himself?"

"Merlin! You can't just accuse-"  But the old man's words were cut off by a knock at the door.

"Go away!"

"Come in!"  The old man looked at Merlin with brows raised as the young man slammed the book he'd been holding closed with a huff and climbed down the ladder with it.

"This isn't done," Merlin said as he took the book to his room. But he didn't shut the door all the way, just in case he might be needed.

He was quite surprised by the voice he heard on the other side of the door however, and crept closer to peer through the crack at his mentor's visitor.

"Well guess who it is..." Merlin whispered to himself as he watched the man who he swore up and down looked nearly identical to his best friend, sitting on a bench at the table as he explained his problem to Camelot's court physician.

_ "...so you see, I'm in a tight spot at the moment and asked around for a good apothecary. Unfortunately those in the town carry only remedies I have already tried and found to be unsatisfactory." _

_ "How intense are these nightmares, Sir Dagon?" _

_ "Very. I... must admit that more than once my cousin has had to rouse me from my sleep and I have found that I have left my bed and walked around with a dagger in my hand. We have already ruled out enchantment and magic. But I fear that if I do not find some stronger remedy I may harm someone or myself by accident and never know it until it is too late." _

_ "That is quite a troubling problem... Is that why you insisted Sir Brig share quarters with you rather than remain with the rest of the knights?" _

_"To my shame, it is,"_ Merlin heard him say. _"This is not something that happens every night, mind you. But I find that when it does happen, I am shaken to the core. That my unconscious mind perceives danger around me at such times..."_

_"Not many know this,"_ Gaius said solemnly. _"But the late king Uther suffered much the same affliction early in his reign. It was not until after he married his wife that his mental turmoil began to settle. We shall try the same remedy I prescribed for him at the time and adjust it for you as needed. Are you allergic to anything specific?"_

_"Juniper,"_ he said. _"I break out in a rash if I ingest the juice. Vomiting if i ingest the entire berry. I hope that this will not be a problem for you?"_

_ "No. Not at all. You'd be surprised how many people have a similar problem with other ingredients I commonly use." _

Merlin backed away from the door as the pair went to more mundane subjects. The knight's aversion to juniper was... unsettling. It brought his mind back to worries for Arthur.

Very few outside the royal household- hell, very few IN the royal household - knew that King Arthur had the same problem with the berry.

**o0o**

Merlin watched as the nobles entered the hall. Dagon, despite the fact that only Merlin seemed to see the uncanny resemblance between the knight and Arthur, walked arm and arm with Queen Alana of Deira, three servants trailing behind them. Two carrying a large trunk and a third pulling what appeared to be a sapling along in a large clay pot on a tiny wagon cart.

It was an odd sight, certainly, and one that turned heads as the procession of well wishers and dignitaries came forward to present their official congratulations and gifts to the couple.

Merlin made sure to pay very close attention when it was the Deiran party's turn.

The queen curtsied low while the knight at her side let go of her arm long enough to give a very low and formal bow. He did not speak as Queen Alana gave the royal couple her well wishes on behalf of herself and her kingdom. Merlin leaned forward, just enough so he knew Arthur or Gwen or maybe both would hear him. "What's with the tree?"

Gwen glanced at him, then her husband from the corner of her eye as Arthur frowned in thought. Gwen cheerfully decided to try and find out. "That is a very lovely sapling you have brought with you. May I ask, what kind is it?"

"I believe it is oak."

"I see... Is it common to give such a gift in Deira?"

"Among some of the common folk, yes," she said, then realizing her faux pas, looked to Dagon with a smile. "My champion insisted we bring it with us on the journey for luck. Perhaps he can explain further."

Gwen's smile never faltered, but it was clear she thought the mention of common folk might have been a dig at her past status as a servant.

Dagon bowed once again. "It was not meant in offense, your majesties. Where I come from, outside of Deira, the people did not have much in the way of valued possessions. So instead they gave gifts symbolic in nature. The oak, among my people, is a symbol of strength and is often given as a gift to newly married couples. It is believed as the tree takes root, so does love. And as the tree grows stronger, so too will the union. As your family grows, so too will the tree. With each birth it was common to give a gift of the tree to friends and family to symbolize the growing of your family. A leaf in spring and summer. Acorns in the fall and winter months."

Gwen's smile softened and Arthur looked thoughtful before giving a small nod. "On behalf of the royal family of Camelot, Sir Dagon, I thank you for your generous and thoughtful gift. I will see to it that the sapling is given a place of honor in the royal gardens."

Dagon bowed once more while the queen at his side gave another curtsy, recognizing a dismissal when she saw one. They linked arms and together walked towards the rest of the merry makers while the servants carried the gifts away.

Merlin stood back, thinking on the explanation before shoving it to the back of his thoughts for later.

**o0o**

Merlin pestered Gaius the following day when he had a small break from his duties to Arthur. "Who gives people trees?!"

"Some druids still have this practice, as it is one in which no magic is used and can be done without anyone accusing them of sorcery."

"Really?"

"Yes. Now if you're going to stand around all day I need you to mix this chamomile into that green paste over there."

"What even is this for?"

"It's a special sleep medication."

"For Sir Dagon?"

"Yes. How do you.... You know what, nevermind. Just mix that chamomile in for me while I keep watch on the pot and make sure it doesn't turn orange."

"Why? What happens when it turns-"

And that's when the liquid in the pot turned orange and the acrid smoke filled the room. "That!" Gaius exclaimed as he covered his nose. "Merlin! Open the window! Hurry!"

When George was sent to look for Merlin later, he found both Merlin and Gaius stained orange and fast asleep with Merlin slumped beneath the barely opened window.

**o0o**

"Why are you orange?"

"It's my fault sire," Gaius said, his formerly white eyebrows now a startling shade of the same color. "There was an incident while brewing a medicine."

"Will it wash out?

"Unfortunately not for a while."

"How long is a while?"

"A week at the earliest."

Gwen stifled a laugh. Arthur didn't even bother. Merlin's face turned a darker shade of orange as he tried and failed not to look embarrassed.

From his place down at the lists, waiting for his turn to fight in the tourney, Dagon stared in confusion at the two orange men in the royal box. Brig elbowed him. "Enough ogling the orange boy, Dagon. Grab that sword of yours and get moving. They've called you up twice already. Now you're just making a fool of yourself."

**o0o**

He sat at the winner's table that night, and most nights thereafter as the numbers of competitors dwindled.

On the fourth night, Brig got so drunk she burst into song, and it took all Dagon had to keep her from climbing up on table with a tankard of ale. He couldn't stop her singing, though. Which caused most around them to laugh - especially when Gwaine decided to join in with a few rousing bars of his own.

Though Percival was able to keep him in his seat with far more ease than Dagon could with Brig.

That night he had to practically carry her back to their chambers.

He was a little surprised, though in retrospect he realized he shouldn't have been, to find Merlin on the other side of his door not long after with a vial in each hand and hardly able to form words.

Then again, Dagon should have pulled his nightshirt on before he opened the door instead of standing there in just his trousers and bare feet.

"Yes?"

"These!" Merlin said, holding them up. "I mean Gaius said, well he didn't really say to but your friend there-"

"Would you like to come in or do you always make a habit of standing in the corridor stammering like a simpleton?" Merlin's gibbering stopped as Dagon raised a brow, standing aside and opening the door wider. Merlin poked his head in, looking around the guest quarters before offering the vials instead. Dagon simply turned away from him and went back to where he had been sitting by the fire. "Which one is which?" he asked as he seated himself, then picked up his sword and the whetstone he'd been using.

"The brown bottle is for Sir Brig. I thought he might need it after how much he had to drink. My friend Gwaine often has use of it after such nights," Merlin said, glancing around the room. It was a mess, but that wasn't surprising considering one of the occupants - whom must be in the antechamber bed - had been unable to walk on his own when the pair had left the feast.

"And the other I assume is for me?"

"Yes. Gaius finished it this morning."

"There were no further mishaps I hope," Dagon said as he worked on sharpening his sword. He could feel Merlin's eyes glancing over him off an on as the young man cast his gaze around. "I wouldn't want to end up turning orange myself."

And ah, there it was. The familiar feeling of being watched. He hadn't realized he had missed Merlin's steady and unwavering gaze until it was focused entirely on his back.

"The royal gardeners planted your tree today," Merlin blurted out.

Dagon tried not to smile as he set his sword aside and reached for Brig's. "I am glad to hear it. I hope it takes deep root and grows strong and solid alongside the marriage of the king and queen of Camelot." This time, he really did smile. He couldn't help it as he set aside his work and stood. "Do you have anywhere you need to be? Normally my cousin and I play a game before bed, but I find myself without a partner."

"I-"

"Forgive me, it was foolish to ask. You need your sleep. The king must keep you very busy."

"Yes. Very busy."

Dagon nodded and made for the door, opening it again. "It was a pleasure to meet you... Sorry, I didn't get your name."

"I didn't give it."

"Well I can't just call you simpleton or the king's servant all the time while I am here now can I?"

"I-"

Dagon shook his head and sighed. He wanted to roll his eyes. This was a simple game by now. Gaius had already given him his draught for that night earlier in the day with apologies that it had taken longer than expected due to the incident with the knock-out gas he had accidentally created. This was Merlin being suspicious for some reason or another. Why, he could not fathom. He was wearing his enchanted ring to conceal his appearance. He was careful never to let on that he knew more than what was expected of him as a first time visitor to Camelot. Hell, he deliberately got himself lost on more than one occasion in the city and the castle, which Brig found most amusing, just to make sure no one suspected who he was.

And yet here Merlin was, trying to spy on him and doing a bang up job of being obvious about it.

How in the world he never noticed this kind of thing happening in his own castle the first time he lived through it he'd never know. Magic, probably, had something to do with it. Or he was just that damn self-centered still.

So, instead, he had invited Merlin in rather than just taking the bottles from him. He couldn't give him any more reason to try to break into his rooms. Not that he'd find anything other than perhaps some of Brig's... well, it wasn't polite to speak of a lady's private things to anyone, let alone men of any station. Better just invite the poor bastard in and let him look his fill. Otherwise if something did go amiss during this visit, he was damn certain that he was near the top of Merlin's list of suspects for some ungodly reason.

Dagon offered his hand. "Sir Dagon," he offered. "Of Traveler's Fork in Mercia."

"And you fight for Deira?"

"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you And Your Fight For Deira."

"That isn't my name."

"Oh? I had assumed since I was introducing myself to you properly that you would do the same."

Merlin looked slightly affronted. "What kind of a name is _And You Fight For Deira_?"

"I don't know. Your mother must have really not liked you."

"I'll have you know my mother adores me!"

"Really? Well what kind of a name is-"

"Merlin!" the young man snapped. "My name is Merlin not- not-"

"See," Dagon said with a small laugh. "Was that really so hard?"

When Merlin stormed off, in a tizzy about the exchange rather than whatever suspicion had put Dagon on Merlin's radar, the king shut the door and made sure it was locked. Not like it would stop Merlin and his magic. But it would stop the regular servants from coming in while he had his ring off and Brig was sleeping off the ale.

**o0o**

Gaius wasn't surprised to see Merlin flipping through books again. It seemed as if all his free time was spent looking for information. He looked at the parchments left scattered across the workbench. "You've ruled out golem then?"

"Yeah."

"And Sidhe."

"He doesn't carry a staff and his sword doesn't have a single jewel on the hilt."

"He could simply just be a kind young man from another kingdom come to take part in the tournament you know."

"Have you seen his cousin training with the other knights?"

"I cannot say that I have. I seem to be wasting all of my time making remedies for the sick and dying. And the occasional knight in need of a muscle relaxant."

Merlin hummed. "He's strange, is all. Almost as strange as Sir Dagon himself. I tried asking the servants and knights that came with them but none of them knew anything."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Sir Namon, Deira's First Knight, says that they met at the border of Deira and Mercia, and traveled with the queen since. I get the feeling he doesn't like them much."

"That is something..."

"They're not noble, but they act it. Well, he does. His cousin...."

"More like Sir Gwaine?"

"Yeah," Merlin said, turning the page. "There's something about those two that doesn't feel right. I can't put my finger on it, but I don't like it."

Gaius frowned, glancing at the large jar where he had stored the remainder of Sir Dagon's sleeping medicine, and thought about what Merlin had said. "Perhaps," he begins, his tone cautious. "You may have been right to keep an eye on them."

Merlin hummed as he turned another page before slamming the book closed and putting his head down on top of it. "I've got to get back to Arthur and Gwen. Will you help me look for something? It might help us uncover who this Sir Dagon really is."

"What, exactly, are you looking for?"

"When I was in his rooms before, the night his cousin and Gwaine started serenading everyone-"

"Don't remind me."

"He didn't have his shirt on. I saw these markings on his skin. He had a dragon, here," Merlin said as he sat up, indicating his bicep. "And back here," he said, trying to reach behind one of the shoulder blades. "There was a strange spiral or knot. I couldn't be sure, the light wasn't too good. And then, here," he said standing and turning his back to Gaius, trying to indicate his lower back. "I'm not sure but there were some kind of wings I think."

"A dragon, a knot, and wings," Gaius said thoughtfully as Merlin turned back to face him. "What kind of wings would you say? Like the wings of a bird? A bat?"

"The light wasn't too good like I said. Maybe I can try and get a better look or...." he thought for a moment. "His cousin! Sir Brig! The man loves to drink! Maybe if I can make sure his cup is constantly full..."

"He might let something slip."

"Exactly."

"I'll see what I can do, but i make no promises Merlin. And remember, this is the word of a servant against a knight, the champion of a visiting monarch no less. I needn't remind you to be careful."

Merlin grinned as he reached for his coat, slipping it on hastily. "But you always do anyway," he said before he hurried off after him."

**o0o**

The chance never presented itself as Merlin was constantly run around by Arthur and by extension Gwen. And when they didn't need him, Gaius was sending him off to get more supplies.

The tournament was winding down and the next to last day, Sir Dagon was finally eliminated to the surprise of bet-makers across the city. While many had bet against him, for his semi-finals match was against Sir Percival who was clearly the visibly stronger of the two, Dagon had quite a lot of people rooting for him after witnessing the spectacle that they had believed to be the Deiran style of fighting.

For the first time Dagon was able to sit in the company of the normal knights rather than the winners and the nobles in a place of honor. But he wasn't bitter. It had been intentional for him to lose. And he couldn't imagine a better person to throw his match to.

For he needed to be able to watch the royal table without it being too obvious. He needed to make a drastic change to events without throwing them too off the destined path. He needed to give Merlin a reason to trust him.

And he recalled the perfect opportunity. He only hoped that his presence in Camelot, and that of the Deiran delegates with their queen, had not already upset things and sent them down a diverging path already.

Merlin, on the other hand, kept an eye on Dagon. He had watched the man's matches with a keen eye, and had realized rather quickly what had happened that afternoon. He noticed the knight wasn't putting in the same level of effort he had in the days before.

And Brig?.... Well, she appeared to be enjoying her drink as usual, but when no one was looking and she was able to hide her eyes, the ale was turned to water. She had been told to keep a sharp mind tonight. Just in case.

After the entertainers had come and gone and the final course had been brought out - delicate desserts that were the queen's favorites - Dagon noticed a squirrely looking servant hovering at the edges of the room near the royal table. Quietly he leaned in to Brig, getting her attention and whispering to her in the language of their clan. She cast her gaze about until she found the man of which Dagon told her, and nodded subtly.

"Cause a distraction," he said. "The moment is now. Do not let anyone eat from the trays immediately in front of Queen Guenevere."

"What do you suspect?"

"I know it is poison. But I was too blind to see it the first time," he said. "We never found the culprit."

"And this time that changes."

"Indeed."

Brig went back to her stories, and Dagon politely excused himself the moment he saw the squirrely looking servant slip out a side exit of the feasting hall. When she saw him get up, Brig did what she did best. She got loud. She got obnoxious. And after affecting a slightly drunken slur to her voice and words, began to tell one whopper of a tale to draw the attention to herself.

Merlin, watching the strange foreign knight leave moments before, shoved his wine pitcher at a serving girl and slipped away after him.

**o0o**

He was running down the corridor, using his knowledge of the castle to his advantage as he figured out the most obvious path the would-be assassin would be taking to try and reach an exit from the citadel. It proved to be the right decision as he leapt out of a shadowed alcove and slammed into the man. The force of his body hitting the other forced the man to thud against the wall.

"Where is the antidote!" he demanded of the man who groaned at him.

"I don't know-"

"Don't you lie to me you sorry sack of-"

"Sir Dagon!" Merlin's voice called out, lacking all hint of the man's perceived simpleness and good nature.

The man was on his feet, throwing himself at Dagon long enough to pull the dagger from his belt and hold it up as if to attack. "Death to the Pendragons!" he cried. Without thinking, Dagon raised his hand and with green fire ringing his eyes and words of magic spilling from his lips, flung the attacker back again against the wall with a crack. The dagger clattered to the floor as the man's body slumped to the ground, a trail of blood following the body down.

Quickly Dagon searched the man's body as Merlin came running towards the sound of a struggle. Taking in the scene, and misreading it entirely, he assumed that Dagon had killed the man for trying to stop him and was now- "Unhand him!"

Dagon ignored him long enough to find two vials on the servant's person. He uncapped one and sniffed it, then recapped it. "This one is the poison. The other I assume is the antidote," he said, standing to his full height and offering the vials to Merlin.

"You-"

"There isn't time! Did you not hear him shout death to the Pendragons?! The king and queen's lives are at stake! Take these to your court physician!"

Moments later Brig had come upon them, slightly out of breath and deciding to speak in their clan tongue again. Dagon shook his head in response, but looked to Merlin then who had not taken the vials and was checking the pulse of the servant. It was weak... very weak.

"Oh for fuck's sake, my Lord Emrys, take the bloody things and go before it's too late! My cousin and I will clean up here."

Merlin's head snapped up at the sound of the name Dagon had called him. He saw the green glow receding in the man's eyes as he once again held out the two vials. "I can explain everything but please, Emrys, save your king and queen." He stepped forward, pulling Merlin up to his feet and forcing him to take the vials. Then he turned his back and barked an order to Brig to help him with the body.

**o0o**

The culprit survived.

Unfortunately.

The queen hadn't eaten much of the dessert, despite them being her favorites, because Brig had gotten... rather enthusiastic in her story and had, in her reenacting of a great epic of Eire, knocked the tray in front of Camelot's queen to the floor by accident.

But the antidote had saved her a week's worth of sickness and the lives of four of the ladies in the court who, in the original course of events, would have died within days without the antidote.

In private council, Arthur had spoken with the other visiting monarchs and lords, and was able to deduce that none of them were behind the attack. When they had left, he asked Queen Alana to remain and insisted she summon her champion and his cousin to speak with him.

Presented before the king of Camelot, Dagon and Brig were left to their own devices, and Dagon chose to kneel before Arthur and his wife in a show of respect. After all he was but a lowly knight of peasant birth. "Your majesties, you have called for us and we have come. How may we be of service to you both?"

"My manservant tells me it was you who found and confronted the culprit, Sir Dagon. And your cousin, Sir Brig came along after his... entertaining performance. Tell me in your own words what led to the confrontation until my manservant found you in the corridor with the assassin."

"Of course, sire. May I stand? I find it easier to explain myself if I am looking the man I speak to in the eye."

Arthur raised a brow, but nodded. Dagon stood, and beside him so did Brig. Really, she was just following her king's lead.

Dagon glanced from Alana to Gwen, then to Arthur and past him. He appeared to be looking at Arthur, but it wasn't for his benefit he was speaking. It was for the man with the power behind the throne of Camelot. "As you are all aware, I failed to win my match against Sir Percival, and so I wasn't at the high tables and instead sitting among the knights. What you are not aware of, with the exception of my cousin and your court physician, is that I suffer from the affliction of night terrors. They can manifest in many ways, but the end result is always the same. When I am awakened from them I cannot get back to sleep. I am physically and emotionally drained from the effort of dealing with them. As a result I am slower and less responsive when it comes to physical activity." He held up a hand to stay anyone's words that may come. "Sir Percival won fair and square, I make no excuses for my loss nor do I besmirch Sir Percival's honor. Even if I were fighting at my best I doubt I could best that mountain of a man. I only offer an explanation for why I excused myself early from the feast. I felt I had stayed for as long as was proper and desired to seek my bed and call it an early night.

"However I realized on the way to my chambers that I had forgotten to ask your physician for another dose of the medicine I requested he make for me to help me cope with the issues. Last night I did not have a full dose left, but did not wish to wake him as I know he has been working tirelessly to ensure the safety of the knights in the tournament as well as the well being of the people of Camelot. Realizing I had forgotten, I had thought to detour to the court physician's chambers to request of him a new bottle of medicine."

"Is this true, Gaius?"

"He did not reach my chambers last night, Sire, but his affliction is real. I have treated patients with it before and the medication required is quite tricky. If a complete dose is not taken at the appropriate time before sleep, it will be less effective and will not treat the affliction properly."

"Thank you Gaius. Sir Dagon, you may continue."

Dagon nodded, closing his eyes and drawing a deep breath before he opened them and looked at Arthur this time rather than Merlin. "As I was trying to find my way, I was turned around and lost. Your castle is rather large and in my state of exhaustion I must confess that I was not quite sure where I was going. I had resolved myself to finding a servant and asking for directions to be perfectly honest, when I came upon the assassin. I did not realize he was fleeing the scene of a crime until when I tried to get his assistance he reached for my dagger."

"A dagger you shouldn't have been wearing in the presence of so many royals and nobles."

"That," Queen Alana spoke up now. "Was not his fault. He, Sir Brig, and Sir Namon wear them at my personal request and have sworn an oath to me never to be left in my presence unarmed. I am old, Pendragon, and I am not as spry as I used to be. There have been many attempts on my life of late and they are my personal protection in a foreign land. Were you to come to Deira I would allow the same request from you." She nodded to the two knights before him, but kept her eyes on King Arthur. "And, I will remind you, such was a stipulation in my acceptance of your invitation to come so far from home. Your reply, I believe, was one of understanding and concern for my health and my protection."

Arthur, rather than say anything, made a gesture Dagon understood quite well meant for him to continue.

"What happened next was a natural warrior's reaction to personal attack. He crowded me, pulled my dagger, and threatened to attack while declaring death to you and your new, lovely wife. Instinct took over in that moment and I threw him back, using my body to do so as I was otherwise unarmed. I must have hit him rather hard, for in the following moments, before your manservant had come upon us, the man had fallen to the floor unconscious. He may even have hit his head on the wall, which I can only speculate. But it would make sense given the state of him after."

As Dagon spoke, Merlin half-listened, caught by surprise by the voice invading his thoughts rather insistently. A voice that, when he focused, he realized came from the flame haired knight standing beside Sir Dagon. Druids, Merlin had realized. The pair of them were druids!

Dagon and Brig were dismissed, but ordered to return to their quarters until they were told otherwise.

"Merlin, I want guards placed on their door-"

"Pendragon what is the meaning of-"

"Until I can ascertain exactly what happened in that corridor last night, and until I am satisfied there is no further threat to the well being of my wife, everyone involved in the incident will be confined to quarters or my dungeons as the situation may deem appropriate."

"And do you plan to imprison me in my chambers as well, King Arthur?"

"No, Queen Alana. But my decision stands."

**o0o**

The tournament was ended with a final match and much fanfare despite the incident. Dagon and Brig remained confined to quarters, with Gaius delivering the required vials of medication for Dagon to ensure he did not suffer the night fits he had claimed before the king.

Merlin was, as he often is, still suspicious.

Especially Sir Brig had so brazenly communicated with him in the manner the druids often did right in front of the King and other nobles no less. So openly and without care. The odd spiral-knot he had spotted on Sir Dagon's shoulder blade made sense, now, that he knew they were druids. They often carried a mark that set them apart from outsiders. Though, admittedly, Merlin had not seen a druid mark like Dagon's before. And it still didn't explain the dragon mark, nor the strange wings he had seen.

So when Gaius had been to busy to deliver the medicine to Dagon's quarters the night before the trial of the assassin before the court, he had asked Merlin to deliver it for him.

And Merlin, wanting the truth of the matter, had conveniently been too busy with Arthur and Gwen to deliver it.

**o0o**

"Are you sure I can't just..." she wiggled her fingers at him playfully as if casting a spell on him. "A small one, sire, to help you sleep."

"It will do no good," he said with a sigh. "I can feel it in my bones. So far from Elmet, I have nothing to ground me in the present. The magic that sustains me and the land both cannot shield me from the worst of it."

"That physician should have been here over two hours ago."

Dagon nodded thoughtfully before reaching out to the game board and moving the flat red stone piece forward, capturing one of Brig's blue pieces. It was a simple game of draughts, one he had introduced late one cold winter night to the druids when Brig had been ill and confined to her tent. But the woman had often sought him out after she had recovered to continue their games. She was also very fond of the other games he had taught them, but this one was her favorite. It was quicker and they could play many rounds in a night.

"Do you wish for me to keep the weapons locked away in my room tonight, sire? Just in case?"

"It may be best. Never have I been more thankful for my former self's stubbornness. If I become a danger, the guards are here and will help you."

She gave a small nod and refilled her cup with water from the pitcher that had been brought with their dinner. "I hope it is a quiet night, sire."

"As do I."

**o0o**

"Leona! Leona get out of there!"

Brig was out of her bed like someone had lit a fire under her ass. She hadn't bothered making herself presentable. A whisper and a hand wave as she came through the door from the antechamber caused the flames in the fireplace to spring to life as she went to the thrashing figure on the bed.

"Dragons! Oh God! It's the dragons!" Dagon cried out, fighting the blankets, the curtains, anything in his reach. "RUN! IT'S TOO LATE!"

There was a banging at the door of their chambers, and she had only a moment of indecision - and it was all that was needed for Dagon to lash out at her, catching her across the face with a fist as her king fought off the monsters of his nightmares. She gave a whisper and the door across the room unlocked as she struggled with all her might to pin the man as best as she could to the bed. If she used magic, his own would surge forth to meet her in kind. It was something they had learned in the months following the awakening of his magic in the oasis. And now that his power was boosted by the land, there was very little she could do in the way of magic that could successfully restrain him without harm.

When the door opened and the knights guarding their room took stock of the situation, Brig wasted no time barking orders. "One of you come over here and help me before he hurts himself!" she snapped. One of them set his sword aside and moved quickly to the bed. "His legs! Hold his legs down while I keep his arms pinned. And you there! Don't just stand there gawking like a bloody idiot! Go fetch that damnable physician before I bloody skin you alive!"

The second guard didn't need to be told twice as the half-naked woman struggled to keep her dearest friend pinned down and safe.

"Miss, I will hold him down. Perhaps you should-"

"What you never seen a set of tits before? Look away if it bothers you," she said with a grunt as she slammed a shoulder into Dagon's mouth to smother the scream that was about to start. His teeth sank into her skin, but she bit her lip in turn to hold back the shout of pain.

Soon there were voices in the hall and the sound of hurried footsteps outside the open door.

Distracted momentarily, Brig lost her hold on one of Dagon's arms and he threw another punch, socking her in the side of the head and causing her to let go, staggering back with an audible cry of pain. The guard that had been helping her hold him down in the bed lost his grip and received what was luckily a bare foot to his chest rather than a booted one.

Brig snarled, adrenaline pumping as Dagon, his face covered in blood from the wound he'd given his friend's shoulder and his eyes wide but unseeing. She need not imagine the horrors he was forced to relive in moments such as this... for she had seen the same visions of her mother when she had exposed the Fisher King to the Seer Stone.

Brig cracked her neck as Dagon had finally managed to get himself free of the bedding and the curtains, and then she ran. Head down, arm tucked in, and shoulder stiff. With a yell she used the force of her own body to throw him back to the bed and then sat on him, shouting at him in a language no one in the room understood as the guards moved to help her keep him still.

"If you got something to settle him down, now's the time!" Brig snapped angrily.

Gaius moved forward, uncorking a vial with his teeth and coming to the bed. He made sure to position himself behind his patient's head. "Hold his head steady. Merlin, come here and put your hand on his throat. We must make sure he swallows all of it."

"What is it?"

"A sedative. One of the strongest that I have."

Brig nodded her consent and with blood dribbling down her bare chest and her arm, she put as much strength as she could into holding his head steady as she rocked forward, putting most of her weight onto Dagon's arms with her knees to keep him from reaching up to fight them off.

Gaius pinched the man's nose closed, forcing him to open his mouth as Merlin carefully reached out to touch his throat, starting the rubbing motion he had often done when helping Gaius with this same, if usually much tamer, task before. Once the vial was emptied, and all of it swallowed, Brig released his head, noting that he wasn't thrashing it from side to side anymore. When she was certain his body was to follow, she threw herself to the side with a tired groan.

A sheet of cloth was draped across her upper body to protect her modesty, but she was too tired to comment or care. "Thank you," she said.

"I'll give you a few moments to compose yourself miss before I would like to see about your shoulder. Sir Edwin, will you accompany Merlin back to my quarters? He knows what I will need. And bring some fresh water when you return."

"Of course, Gaius," the guard said with a nod. Merlin looked from the drugged man, to the woman he thought had been a man, and then finally to Gaius. "We need to tell Arthur."

"I will. Until then, I have two patients that need my attention, Merlin. Go."

When he was certain they were gone, Gaius had told the guard to return to his post outside the door and thanked him for his assistance. When the door was shut behind him, Gaius turned his attention to the woman that he, too, had thought to be a man. "Did he not take the medicine I sent for him?"

"We received no medicine."

"When he said the night terrors were intense, I had no idea they were to this extent," the physician said as Brig climbed out of the bed and moved to a chair, the sheet wrapped around her torso and held in place against her breasts by her arms, leaving her shoulders bare. "How often does this truly happen?"

"This is... the worst it has been in a long time. He used to get them every few nights in the beginning. As he worked through his grief and his pain, they became less frequent but the intensity increased. He can feel them now, when they are starting to come on. And the further away from home and the longer we are away, the worse it becomes."

"I see..." Gaius said, looking back to the man who blankly stared at the ceiling and mumbled softly words Gaius did not understand. "The king's father, for a time, suffered a similar affliction."

"So you told him, and he told me," she said. "You're not going to tell anyone about-"

"I'm afraid I will have to tell the king, and your queen of course."

"No, I meant..." she said, lowering the sheet briefly to expose her chest again. "I know in Camelot it's not... Women aren't allowed to be what I am. I don't wish to bring shame to my people and my kingdom in the eyes of Camelot."

"If it does not come up, I will have no need to share it. We all have our secrets for one reason or another. Though I will admit this will put poor Merlin's mind at ease. He's been walking around believing you two were here to harm the king."

Brig shook her head and sighed. "If things were different, I've no doubt Dagon and I would have been proud to serve under King Arthur in some capacity or another. Though, I'd be bitter as hell about not getting my knighthood. I earned it with every battle and every scar."

They would have spoken more, but there was a knock at the door. Gaius left her side to open it, and there stood Merlin with a basket in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. Sir Edwin resumed his place at the door as Gaius took the basket from his apprentice, giving him a stern, raised eyebrow as he did so before he moved to attend to his patient.

"Make yourself useful, Merlin and clean up Sir Dagon before putting him to bed properly."

"He's still awake."

"Aye," Brig said. "He's a right stubborn bastard, but he'll not be much of a problem for a good few hours yet. If we're lucky, he might actually get back to sleep now."

Merlin tried not to look at her, even though she now at least had her breasts covered. She sniffed everything Gaius offered her before she drank it. Then the man set to cleaning the deep marks in her shoulder. "Only I could get hurt during a tournament I'm not even in. He gets thumped 'round the head a few times and what do I get? A full set of chompers right in the shoulder."

"When you're done there, Merlin," Gaius said sternly as Merlin worked behind him to get the dead weight of the knight moving to the proper position in the bed, "Go to Sir Brig's room and fetch a loose tunic for when I'm finished here."

Merlin mumbled his reply as he finally got Dagon's head to the pillows. The man was laying on his side still muttering in some unknown tongue. With his back exposed Merlin at last was able to see the markings he had only glimpsed before. The knot-spiral was indeed just a spiral. But it was one he had not seen before. And the wings... those were only part of a whole. It was an entire bird and what he had thought might have been feathers were in fact flame. Talons gripped something, but he could not make it out unless he leaned in closer, something he knew he'd better not do at the moment.

Instead he pulled up the blankets and turned his back to the man in the bed to do as he was told.

Merlin, he found later once he and Gaius were back in the physician's chambers, would not be getting much sleep that night.

**o0o**

Arthur was not pleased.

Queen Alana was incensed and about ready to declare war upon Camelot for the way that her friend and his knight had been treated. Had she not given her solemn word to keep Dagon's true identity a secret, she would have torn Arthur up one side and down the other.

It was Brig who had talked the woman down, telling her that if Deira went to war on his behalf then Dagon would be very angry with her. Especially if she chose to go to war against Camelot. "We don't want to give them any more reason to hate our kind than they already do. We share a border with them and do not wish to condemn the men and women that came to us for refuge into a war with the very people they fled from."

Queen Alana still wasn't happy with it, but she held her tongue. At least in that regard.

Despite the trouble the night before, Dagon dressed for court and did not argue when he was summoned. Merlin, it seemed, had unknowingly proven the knight's claim of night terrors enough for Arthur to believe his story over that of the assassin. An assassin who had reason to lie to try and save his own skin.

Merlin however, was now suspicious for entirely different reasons.

Reasons that, unfortunately, he would receive very few answers for any time soon.

**o0o**

"I have made a stronger batch of the medicine. Half a bottle should be all that you need at a time," Gaius said as Merlin set the box on the table for the visiting knight. "And I have also included the recipe for your physician when you return to Deira. As well as the recipe for the sedative I gave you that night. I hope that one won't be needed any time soon."

"From the bottom of my heart, I thank you. I have sought treatments for this for many years, resorting even to magic in an attempt to get a decent night's sleep. I will never be able to repay your kindness, and I am grateful that news of my affliction has not been spread around."

"Your queen is very fond of you, Dagon. Had it not been for your cousin I fear we may be parting as enemies rather than friends."

"Then I will have to thank my cousin when we return home. I'm sure her wife will be pleased to hear how war was avoided by Brig's stubbornness and sharp tongue."

"She's married?"

"Yes. I know that may seem odd here in Camelot but... much of you do is strange to us in the North."

The knight and the physician spoke a few moments more, mostly about medicines and treatments he had tried over the years, before Gaius excused himself. Dagon smiled sadly before turning away from the door and returning to his packing.

"I..." Merlin started, fidgeting with a bit of his sleeve. "I wanted to apologize," he said. "For before. I thought you might have been here to harm the king and queen."

"Well now you know better," Dagon said. "Is there anything else I can help you with, Emrys?"

Merlin wanted to ask him why he chose to call him that rather than his name - especially since he knew rightly what it was now. But instead... "The marking on your shoulder, that's a druid spiral isn't it?"

"It is."

"Only I've never seen one like that before."

"You wouldn't have unless you've been across the Seas of Meredoc."

"Is that where you're from?"

"My clan is from there. Or rather... here I believe the term used is tribe."

Merlin nodded as he watched the knight laying out his clothes, one piece on top of another and carefully rolling them into tight bundles. Entire outfits of a basic tunic and trousers tightly compacted into neat, slender little rolls. Merlin found it surprisingly efficient when he noticed all the space the man was saving in his trunk.

"Traveler's Fork is in Mercia, not across the sea."

"So it is," Dagon replied simply. "Is there anything else obvious you'd like to point out to me or may I finish packing in peace?"

"You have magic."

Merlin watched him falter, briefly, before resuming his task. "Aye. I do. Is that why you assumed the worst of me, Emrys? Even in Deira we hear rumours of the constant attempts on your king's life by those like you and I. But we are not all bad people. We do not all seek to cause harm-"

"And yet you're a knight."

"I am."

"I thought the druids were pacifists."

"The ones of Albion are. But in Eire... it is a harsh and violent land. To survive, one must adapt. My clan became warriors out of necessity. And they are damn fine at it, too. It would be a waste of my skills if I did not use them to protect those who cannot fend for themselves. Deira guards the south from the violent attacks of the North. If not for their swords and their willing fighting men, you would have been overrun years ago. I don't think even King Uther would have been able to stop the warlords of the North."

"Arthur could."

Dagon smiled, and again it was quite sad. "Aye, he could at that. And perhaps one day, he'll get the chance to prove it. Until then, Deiran steel will continue to ensure you southlings sleep well at night."

**o0o**

It wasn't until a couple days after the last of the visiting nobles had left that Merlin had found what he was looking for in a book in the Camelot library.

He'd used his magic to covertly copy page after page to take back to Gaius and show him.

Gaius looked over the pages and was forced to sit down and take off his glasses in disbelief. "It's not possible. It's simply not possible."

"What? What does this mean, Gaius?"

"That symbol is a druid symbol alright. One that hasn't been seen in Albion for hundreds of years. Not since the fall of the kingdom of Elmet. Not since it became known as the Perilous Lands."

"So?"

"To think that some of them survived... It's incredible."

Merlin sorted through the pages to find more of the information he had copied.

Gaius put his glasses back on and stood, going to his shelves and climbing the ladder to reach the top. For the oldest and dustiest of his tomes, muttering all the while.

By the time he returned, Merlin had found the pages he was looking for. The ones detailing parts of royal crests. It was the only reference to firebirds he could find.

"This is the other that I saw," he said. "The one on his lower back. It's the closest I could find to what he has."

"That's a phoenix."

"Is it?"

"Yes. The more you show me, the more and the less he makes sense. His cousin didn't have any other mark other than the same spiral, mirrored on her own flesh," Gaius said as he put the book on the table and quickly flipped through it. Finally, he stopped and jabbed a finger at the old page. "There it is!"

Merlin peered over his shoulder, trying to read what was written but having some difficulty with the language. It wasn't any he had ever seen. Magic or non-magic.

"This is one of my oldest books," Gaius said. "I was able to convince Uther to allow me to keep it by claiming it was an ancient medical text. Geoffrey couldn't read it so only I knew it was truly a book of history."

"But of what?"

"Of Albion and the creation of the Kingdoms. Each kingdom has a unique story of its founder, but none more strange than that of Elmet. The kingdom founded by a farmer and a band of warrior druids who fought against the Romans who had come to claim this island as their own." Gaius tapped the page, drawing Merlin's attention to the drawings there. "That particular spiral was the symbol for the druids who helped found Elmet. Once they had driven the enemy from their lands, they pledged their allegiance to the farmer and crowned him the first king of Elmet. A warlock who, to ensure he always had a good harvest, used his magic to bolster his and his community's crops. In order to know the movements of his enemies, he bound his magic to the land and the goddess, it was claimed, bound the land to him."

Merlin listened to Gaius's explanations, then turned his attention back to the information he had brought. "And what about the phoenix? Where does this come into things?"

"Perhaps it simply holds cultural significance for his people," Gaius said. "Or... perhaps he is... not who we were led to believe."

"He's not a knight of Deira."

"I don't think he is. I have heard rumours while the visiting knights and nobles were in Camelot. Rumours that I find rather unsettling."

"Then we should warn Arthur."

"I'm afraid it's not that simple. How will we explain it without solid evidence? All we have is rumour and speculation. No proof, Merlin. And now that they have left, I doubt we will ever get any."

Merlin pondered what he had learned, and tucked the information away to puzzle out another time. Instead, he spent the remainder of the evening with Gaius after Arthur had dismissed him in favor of spending time with his wife. And over the course of an evening, Gaius told Merlin the rumours he had heard about a fearsome man that many of the stories simply called the Warlock King.


	7. The Siege of Stormholme

Queen Alana of Deira never traveled to Camelot again.

Within six months of returning home, Alana once more became ill. Her reign, long as it had been, was finally at an end. And the vultures began to circle her daughter.

Before the messengers could be sent out, a letter arrived from the west. A letter bearing the royal seal of the Warlock King. And when the Crown Princess had read it, relief settled in her heart. Her mother had spoken of the man who had defeated her cousin in battle, and even when betrayed showed compassion and mercy for the men whose only crime was following their regent's orders as she tended her sick mother. Yet while she had told of his goodness, of his honesty and honor, she had also warned her of his power. He, she had said, was the best of allies she could ever have hoped for. And more than that - he had the power to back up his words and threats. His was a power that few could truly challenge. It was a power that Alana had one day hoped could be brought to Deira, for every king, even one of magic, had need of a wife. With King Dagon at her daughter’s side, the kingdoms of Deira and Elmet would unify Middle Albion and keep the peace between the north and the south as they had in the days of the ancient kings.

Days later, after she had sent off her own messengers throughout Albion, a small group of 13 knights arrived from Elmet. All bore a metal band on the arm over the mail. It marked them despite the differing styles and designs of their armors, as one single group. One single unit of fighting men. All wore the blue and purple capes of Elmet's Elite forces, the royal phoenix sewn into the fabric in silver, save one. The king himself wore a cape of the same colors, but was set apart by the more intricate stitching of golds, coppers, and silver. That pale, dark haired king did not ride in the center, but at the front, and when Princess Norah watched him riding through the gates with his head high, she had to agree with the soft whispers of her ladies in waiting behind her. King Dagon cut quite a handsome figure upon that steed.

Perhaps she could do what her mother could not, and truly join their kingdoms in a much stronger alliance.

When his group came to a stop before the steps of the castle, her heart skipped a beat as he gave his soldiers an order in an exotic tongue she did not understand. The king was the first to dismount, followed by a one eyed knight with shaggy fire colored hair.

"I welcome you to Stormholme Fortress, King Dagon Oakenheart of Elmet."

She could hear her ladies swoon behind her as he stepped forward and accepted the hand she offered, bending at the waist as much as his armor would allow and taking her hand in his. She expected him to kiss the back of her hand as many visiting noble men had both her and her mother. Instead, he pressed it against his forehead. It was much more formal. Much more chaste. Then again... his visit was not preceded by good tidings.

When he was upright again, releasing her hand from his, he gave a small nod to the ladies behind her before speaking. "It is with sadness in my heart that I come, your highness. Your mother was a good friend to me in the time that I knew her. She spoke often and fondly of you, Princess Norah. I wish we could have met under happier circumstances."

"As do I, your majesty."

"Please, call me Dagon," he said, stepping closer and offering his arm as his men followed the orders of the fire haired knight.

"You must be exhausted after such a long journey. You must tell me how you knew of my mother's death before I made the official announcement. You don't have a spy in my castle, do you Dagon?"

"No, my lady. I have a Seer in mine. He came to me late into the night to tell me what he had Seen. Within the hour our horses were saddled and within two we were riding out of Kingstown heading east."

**o0o**

Brig sat with her feet propped up on a stool, her wife nearby was unpacking their travel bags. Dagon reached forward and moved one of the red pieces on the board, snatching up a blue one before settling back in his seat.

"I must say, her majesty was quite surprised when my wife insisted the two of us bunk with you," she said as she looked to the game board between her and her king, contemplating her next move. "It's quite unusual."

"True."

"And that medicine the physician in Camelot came up with for you works a treat," she added. "Not a single night fit in months."

"We also haven't been away from Elmet in months," he reminded her.

Ollie sighed, hands on her hips as she looked over what was left to put away. "I told you to pack proper nightclothes!"

"I did!"

"You don't have any!"

"Exactly!" Brig replied. "Why bother packing them when I'll not be using them! You never complain when your own end up on the floor by morning."

Ollie frowned, muttered under her breath, and returned to her task.

"Women," Brig muttered under her breath. "Sometimes, I honestly wish I preferred men. You're all so simple. Get mad, go fuck something. Excited? Fuck something. It's the answer to everything."

"Not everything. Also, it's still your move."

"I'm thinking here!"

"Don't hurt yourself Brigid," Ollie called from across the room.

Brig almost barked before she picked up a piece of fruit and chucked it across the room at her wife, pinging her in the back of the head. It earned her a steely glare. Brig pretended not to notice. "For safety's sake, though, I'll be holding all the weaponry tonight. Just in case."

Dagon nodded his agreement as she reached over and moved a blue piece, then grinned with triumph. "Crown me!" she declared.

This was why she had loved this particular game over all the others he had taught her. It was the game where any single piece, any lowly peasant or soldier, could rise to become a powerful King.

Dagon sighed and picked up another flat blue stone, setting it atop the piece she had just moved.

**o0o**

The funeral of Queen Alana was a sombre affair. The visiting nobles from all over the kingdom were clearly upset at the loss of their long time queen. What had surprised Dagon about those in attendance, however, was that Bayard himself had come just a scant two days after his own arrival.

That was... awkward. Initially the man didn't wish to acknowledge Dagon as an equal. However, when Princess Norah had told him that it was King Dagon who had prevented her cousin's attempt to take her rightful throne by force, he was singing another tune.

It didn't help that some of his knights had lost to Dagon in the tournament at Camelot six months prior. Seeing him there, with a crown atop his head rather than as Queen's Champion, had gotten tongues wagging in the taverns.

"If we had met under more pleasant circumstances, King Bayard, I would have been more than happy to sit down and discuss a treaty of peace and mutual benefit between Mercia and Elmet."

"Perhaps I... misjudged your initial offer, King Dagon," was the reply at dinner the night of the funeral. "When I return home, I will speak with my advisors. Are the initial terms still offered?"

"Not in their entirety," Dagon said as he picked at his meal. "But we could come to some arrangement during the later stages of negotiations when the time is appropriate."

And that ended that discussion rather quickly as one of the Deiran lords asked Dagon's opinion on some other, more trivial matter.

**o0o**

The coronation of Queen Norah took place one week after the funeral for Queen Alana.

Where the grand hall was filled with mourners in black before, now there were cheers of celebration and color. Cries of "Long live the Queen!" and "Hail to the Queen! Long may she reign!" echoed off the ancient stone walls of Stormholme Fortress. Dagon was surprised to find Norah's maidservant waiting for him at his quarters after the coronation.

"My lady would like to know what colors his majesty will be wearing this evening to the Coronation Feast."

"Pardon?"

"So that she may dress to match."

"I am afraid I must disappoint her majesty. She... would be better suited to choosing another."

"She has chosen you, King Dagon. Or are you still not the Queen's Champion?"

"I will be her champion," he said as Brig did her best to hold her tongue behind him. It helped that Ollie elbowed her in her ribs to keep her from interrupting.

He thought over his response carefully before replying. "I... would gladly still remain Queen's Champion, however that is all that I may be. To seek more with me would bring her only heartache."

"He'll be wearing the royal blue with copper and silver accents," Brig said, unable to help herself. Her wife glared at her in annoyance.

The maid smiled, giving a nod to the two behind him before hurrying off.

Dagon threw open the door to their chambers, and soundly slammed it again in Brig's face.

**o0o**

His honor dictated he comply with what the maid had been told. And indeed he wore the royal blue with copper and silver accents. He did not fail to notice that he was set beside the queen herself - to the left rather than the right.

"They don't think he knows what that means," Ollie had whispered to Brig where Dagon could hear her. He ignored them, and instead took the assumption in stride. After all, he was the youngest looking of the many nobles in attendance save for the ladies of court. Hell, he looked a little younger than the queen herself. Though appearances were, in this case, just that.

He listened to the idle chatter and gossip at the queen's table. He offered her a dance when he felt it appropriate, and he ensured proper etiquette was very strictly followed.

It mattered very little how formal he ensured he remained, as the more he attempted to resist what was clearly going on, the more he felt pursued. Brig found it hilarious and Ollie thought it was adorable and believed the two of them were well matched. She didn't know nor understand why her wife and her king were so against it. She did understand that things were different in Elmet. The right to rule did not pass from parent to child like in the other kingdoms. But certainly, she believed, the man could see reason and give the best opportunity for any future children he might have. And it would unite the two kingdoms in a way that would only make them stronger. It would ensure any children of the queen were strong from proven warrior stock. None would challenge the succession of such a powerful mingling of bloodlines.

She'd said as much to Brig while Dagon was once again nagged and guilt tripped into joining Norah on a walk through the royal gardens the day after the Mercians had departed and the day before he and the knights of Elmet were meant to leave.

"Put these silly notions of yours out of your head, woman. Dagon would make a fine husband of that I'm certain. But it won't be Queen Norah sitting beside him on the Goddess thrones. That is not their destiny."

"Destiny this and destiny that!" Ollie had replied in exasperation. "What about the king's happiness? What about the future of his kingdom? Ensuring strong unions now will ensure nothing like the fall of the Old Kingdom happens again! And if it does then the people will have places of safety-"

Ollie's words stopped short when her wife simply walked away from the window she had been staring out of.

Curious about what had been so much more engaging than their argument, she peered outside.

Moments later she was running through the castle, raising the alarms as she went. "The queen is attacked!" she cried as she rallied the soldiers and the guards to follow her to the royal gardens, her sword in hand.

**o0o**

A messenger burst through the doors of Camelot's council chamber. One of the knights guarding the door, Elyan, was not fast enough to stop him. "Sire!" the messenger exclaimed, dropping to his knees and holding the scroll above his head.

"What is the meaning of this!" one of the lords exclaimed as Arthur indicated for Merlin to fetch the scroll for him. When his manservant had placed it in his hand and stepped back to his place to the side, the messenger remained kneeling.

"You may rise. You must be very tired after your journey. Please, speak to the guards at the door and they will see to it that you find rest and refreshment."

"Thank you my lord, but I was instructed to remain until you have written a reply and return to my master."

Arthur took in the seal, one that he was not familiar with, before breaking it and reading the letter. He frowned as he read before deciding to roll it up to finish in private. "Council is dismissed. There are matters that need my immediate attention. And someone see to it this messenger is given a hearty meal and comfortable chambers for the night. I will have my reply ready tomorrow."

The messenger sagged, but nodded and rose to his feet as the lords of the court passed him by without nary a glance.

Gwen touched Arthur's arm, concern written across her face as he turned away. She shared a look with Merlin, then Gaius before the three followed their king out through the royal entrance and straight to his chambers.

Once the door was shut, Merlin started in on him. "What's happened?"

"I've been begged for aid from the Warlock King to the north."

Merlin and Gaius gasped, and Merlin's eyes were wide. Their reaction does not go unnoticed by the king, who narrows his gaze at them in a silent demand to explain what they know.

"A warlock king?" Gwen asked. "A sorcerer that's decided to-"

"If I may, sire," Gaius interrupted her. "My apologies my lady, for interrupting. But I fear there is little time to waste. There have been rumours and whispers for years of a Warlock King in the region of Middle Albion. I had believed them to be just that, rumours."

"What do these rumours say? And why is a sorcerer asking the one kingdom in all of Albion that would not hesitate to execute someone like him?"

Gaius glanced at Merlin before he spoke again. "Well, sire, the rumours, if they are to be believed, claim that the Warlock King was once a peasant, a subject of King Bayard in Mercia from a small village that sat on a crossroads between Deira, Essitir, Camelot, and of course, the main road to Bayard's castle of Nightwell Hold. I have heard stories from the knights of Deira themselves that claim he and twelve of his men, with the aid of sorcerer servants, defeated the Prince Regent Waldor's elite guard at the border of Deira and the Perilous Lands."

"Impossible! The Elite Guard of Deira are renowned for their unbeatable tactics and military strategy. Why, I dare say they rival Camelot in the strength of their forces."

"As I said, sire, these are stories I have heard and I do not have proof that they are true," Gaius said. "But it is said the Warlock King commands a band of warrior druids that were believed to have died out centuries ago when the kingdom to our northern border became known as the Perilous Lands. To have there written proof that the Warlock King is real, and that he seeks your help, he must be rather desperate to seek the aid of an enemy to magic."

Arthur put the scroll on his table and unrolled it. Gwen leaned over one one side, and Gaius the other. Merlin peered over the old man's shoulder and swallowed. Only Gaius knew he tensed, and that's only because the young man's hand on his shoulder tightened its grip when he saw the image pressed into the silver wax at the bottom of the scroll. A rising phoenix, with a crown atop its head and a branch clutched in its talons.

It was the same as what he had seen on Sir Dagon's lower back, minus the crown.

"I announced to the council when I received word that Queen Alana of Deira had died and her daughter, Norah, was to be crowned Queen. It seems the death of the former queen has brought out enemies to the crown of Deira that have long waited for the old woman to finally die."

"It says here Arthur that the Deiran forces, with help from only a small group of the Warlock King’s knights, are holding the capital but the men who rebelled under Waldor have once again turned against their rightful queen in favor of the disowned nephew."

Gaius read a bit further and frowned. "He claims he cannot summon the remainder of his own forces for aid because they are currently engaged in holding a border between Rheged and Elmet."

"Elmet?"

"The proper name of the Perilous Lands, sire. Before the fall of the one called the Fisher King. Bayard can send a small force to support them, but it will only be enough to end the siege of the capital, not push the forces of Northumbria back beyond the borders."

"We hold a treaty with Northumbria. To choose a side and aid Deira would break that treaty."

"Indeed it would, sire."

Arthur stepped away from the table, moving to the window and crossing his arms over his chest as he looked out over his city.

"I will need time to think about this," he said. "Leave me."

"As you wish, sire," Gaius said, bowing his head and starting for the door. Merlin started to follow, but stopped when Gwen caught his arm. She nodded towards her husband. "Stay," she whispered to him. "You have always been the one to help him in these matters."

"It's not my place anymore," Merlin insisted quietly. She squeezed his arm gently with a soft smile. "I will learn to help him in this way in time. But it's your advice he needs now, Merlin, not mine."

Merlin nodded and patted her hand with his other one. "I will do my best my lady," he said as she slipped her hand from beneath his.

"Arthur, if you have need of me, I will be..." She thought for a moment before an idea came to her. "I'll be with my ladies in the royal parlor making arrangements for the upcoming midsummer festivals."

"Of course," Arthur said, not leaving his place by the window. Merlin followed her to the door, and she turned in the hall, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

"Good luck, Merlin," she said kindly before walking away. He waited until she was out of sight before closing the door. "So," he said in the usual tone he used to annoy his king with. "A magical upstart in the north asking for the most anti-magic king in all of the south for help to fight off men from further north. Oh, and now there's some mysterious new but not new kingdom immediately to our northern border," he said, making a show of pretending to tidy up the king's rooms. "Next thing you know we'll have Morgana flying in on the back of a pegasus shooting lightning from the sky."

"Shut up Merlin, this is serious!"

"I know.... A pegasus would never let her anywhere near them. They're almost as sacred as the unicorns. Do you think the warlock king can ride one?

"I said SHUT UP MERLIN!"

And so began a long day and night of deliberation, false starts on a reply, and finally just after dawn, a decision.

**o0o**

Dagon Oakenheart stalked the halls of Stormholme Fortress with such an air of authority that many fled before him as he made his way to the war council. The First Knight of Elmet, Sir Namon, had called a meeting and from the way the servant reacted the man was not pleased. Then again, hardly anyone was these days.

It had been months since the siege began, and word came from the west that Umber had, once again, attempted to storm Elmet with his troops. It was decided that the attack on two fronts was a coordinated effort. Northumbria wanted to expand into the south, and Umber up in Rheged wanted what he felt was his. With Dagon absent and pinned in neighboring Deira, and Deira crowning a woman who had already had an uprising against her while her mother was ill but alive... It was a perfect opportunity for the two monarchs to seize the chance to take what they wanted.

When he came into the council chambers, it was to find Ollie standing with one hand planted firmly to her wife's chest and the other on Sir Namon's as the two shouted at one another. "What is the meaning of this?! I was in the middle of overseeing inveotory of the rations for the entire fucking city when-"

"Who gave you the authority to beg Camelot for help!" Namon demanded, throwing the crumpled scroll at him after pushing Ollie's hand and arm away. "You are nothing but a pretender! A Mercian dirt farmer reaching above his station!"

"Don't you dare speak to my king in such a manner, you pompous, self-important backwards blowhard!"

"Druid whore!"

"Better a whore than a dickless coward!" Brig snarled, reaching for her sword. It was Ollie that came between them again.

Dagon schooled his features and bent to pick up the crumpled scroll. He carefully tried to bend it back into shape before unrolling it and beginning to read. The wording was all Merlin, that he was able to recognize. But the hand was that of King Arthur. "Where is the messenger that brought this letter from Camelot?"

"In a cell."

"What? For delivering a message?" He turned his attention to one of the guards on the room. "Find out what cell he is in and free him. Give him coin for his troubles and then send him to my chambers. I would speak with him about his journey to Camelot."

"Ignore that request!" Namon bellowed.

"Please. For the sake of your queen if not for your kingdom and fellow man, fetch that messenger and guard him with your life." Dagon turned his attention back to his first knight and her wife. "Brig, go to the city grain stores and tell them I sent you. I don't want to see your face again until dawn tomorrow."

"Sire-"

"NOW, Sir Brigid!" he shouted, putting a bit of magic behind his voice. Ollie took her by the arm and dragged her out, giving a nod and a quiet, "Sire," as she went. The doors were closed and Dagon re-rolled the scroll and held it at his side. "Namon what is this really about? I wrote to Camelot as well as Mercia, Elmet, and even those bastards in Anglia at the request of YOUR sovereign queen."

"Yet we get a handful of men from Mercia and Camelot sends its regards but will not risk a treaty with Northumbria! Anglia has ignored our pleas for help and Elmet cannot send a single man or woman to fight because of a territory dispute with Umber of Rheged! You have made Deira a laughingstock!"

"I have made it so? I have done what you flat out refused to do! Queen Norah had believed YOU had written to her allies on her behalf at the start of this damned siege and she was losing hope that they would come to her aid now that her mother was dead!"

"Deira does not BEG for help! We have stood as a beacon of strength for seven hundred years with no need to draw in outsiders! Foreign born bastards who look at our frail queen and see a path to glory and-"

"You love her! That's what this is about, isn't it? For fuck's sake man get your head of out of your ass! Why would I want her kingdom when I'm perfectly happy with my own?!"

"You tell me, sorcerer! Why have you bewitched her?!"

"I have done no such thing!"

"Then why does she ask for YOU and not me!"

"Because I don't treat her like a fucking accessory! She may not be bred for battle like her mother, but by the goddess that woman's mind is brilliant! If she were born a man no one would dare stand against her not for fear of a blade but for fear of her intelligence and her determination!" Dagon snarled at him, turning to go, but he stopped and turned once more to face the First Knight of Deira. "And for your information, I have discouraged Norah's multiple attempts before and after this all began to get me into her bed and into the throne beside her! Do forgive my crudeness, but I fear you would understand it no other way to get my point across. I'd rather spend my nights riding the cocks of the stablehands! The whole of my heart, and my destiny belongs to another and while Queen Norah is very lovely and would make an agreeable wife, she will never compare to the man to which I am eternally bound!"

When the door to the war council room opened and Dagon came storming back out, the guards stood staring at one another with red cheeks and unable to look the man, nor one another, in the eye after hearing that tirade.

Finally, one of them drew a slow breath before opening his mouth and saying, "So you think if I nicked some servants clothes from the wash and took a stroll down by the stables I might have a chance of havin' the king get me off?"

A large, heavy hand reached out and smacked the guard in the back of the head.

**o0o**

Dagon met with the messenger, and learned that despite what the letter said, there was in fact a verbal message he had been forced to memorize before departure. Sometimes, it was a good thing he knew how the current king of Camelot's mind worked. An official denial on the basis of the treaty with Northumbria was expected, and if the messenger were intercepted, would show that Camelot did not intend to betray their allies north of Deira. However...

"How many volunteers are we to expect? And did you make mention of the tunnel?"

"Yes my lord, I told them of the tunnel. The king's manservant was very keen on hearing more about it, as was the king himself. Unfortunately, we can only expect twenty more swords."

"I can assume they will not be wearing the colors of Camelot?"

"No, my lord," the messenger said. "I was told they will be flying the banner of Nemeth."

"Nemeth?"

"Yes. A messenger was dispatched during the night I spent in the castle south, asking for king Rhodor to send volunteers as well, and they will ride ahead."

"I see... That was unexpected, but it is welcome news." Dagon poured the man a drink from his own flagon of watered down wine. It was more water than wine at this point. So... his other self could still surprise him. "Before this siege began, were you happy here in Deira?"

"Yes. Reasonably enough."

Dagon nodded. "Well, if you ever find yourself wishing to leave, the gates of Elmet are open to you. You were very brave and I admire that. When this is over, if we both survive, I will grant one request if it is within my power to do so."

The messenger stared at him as if he had grown a second head. Then with a stammer, thanked him. "When you leave, speak to the guard at my door and you will be escorted to comfortable chambers for the night."

**o0o**

It was the middle of the night, two weeks after the return of the messenger that had been sent to Camelot when servants spotted men in the colors of Nemeth approaching the dead end of a ravine south of the capital of Deira. As the disguised knights of Camelot stopped to make camp, silently servants were flitting to and fro through the forest around them and nearby until one broke away, running full pelt for the forest edge where another servant was waiting.

By the time the knights had tied off their horses to the trees and cleared away enough brush to build a fire, the signal fires had been lit at the forest edge, and the watchers in the towers of the city surrounding Stormholme Fortress were giving the cry to alert the Warlock King.

The fires were put out again one by one back down the line to the forest until at last they were all put out. Now, they waited and they watched.

**o0o**

There was a rumble. That was what alerted the knights that something was amiss in the hour just after dawn as Sir Elyan crouched by the fire to cook breakfast for the twenty armed men who had volunteered for the secret mission north. As immediately after the rumbling had ended, men and women burst from the trees around them.

"To arms!" one knight cried, drawing his sword, only to turn and find a child staring at him with wide eyes in her dirty face.

"Hey! You put that bloody knife down you fuckin moppet and move out of the way!"

Sit Brig emerged from the cave that inexplicably had appeared in the chaos. A steady stream of women and children seemed to flow out of the mouth of the cave as Sir Brig and two other knights coordinated their passage. It didn't take long for Elyan to realize these were refugees. Citizens of the besieged capital of Deira, escaping during what could possibly be the only open window they had.

**o0o**

Dagon collapsed under the strain of drawing on so much magic so quickly and so far from the lands of Elmet. It was getting harder and harder to tear open the earth long enough to get people free of the city. The amount of time he could hold it open shorter and shorter.

"Sire, you can't keep forcing yourself-"

"If Stormholme falls," he said as Ollie helped him sit up. "It is only a city. One of many. It can be rebuilt." Dagon accepted the cup of water she offered him and drank it down greedily.

"As my wife would say... Aye, they can."

"But the people," he said, giving the cup back. "The people cannot. And a city cannot be rebuilt without the labor of its people. Nor without their love for their queen."

She nodded, and she waited for him. After a long moment, he gave a nod and she helped him to his feet, pulling an arm over her shoulders as she helped him leave the royal gardens, his bare feet covered in mud and grass stains from his hours of standing, channeling the magic of a land that fought him for every inch he wished to change.

They were met by a servant just inside the castle.

"Your majesty, news from the tunnel."

"It must wait," Ollie said before he could get a word in. "His majesty has exhausted himself once again working the ancient magics."

"I'm afraid it cannot. The knights from Camelot have arrived with twenty men. Unfortunately-"

"We lost someone," Dagon said. "I felt it when the tunnel collapsed."

The servant nodded. "Yes. Sir Moira."

"And what of her husband?"

"Sir Brig had him taken to barracks."

"See to it the physician makes a visit," Dagon said. "Now please, I must rest if I'm to be any use by the changing of guards in the morning."

**o0o**

The fresh forces, small as they were, from Camelot were a mighty help in holding the city until more of Bayard's men arrived.

Elyan, and others who had been around for the tournament to celebrate Arthur's wedding to the knight's sister, were shocked to discover the identity of the supposed Warlock King was none other than the Queen's Champion of Deira, Sir Dagon.

A man who, like his own king, made no qualms about joining his men in battle. The knights of Camelot were cautioned that they would bear witness to men with magic on both sides of the conflict, and though Camelot's stance on magic was quite clear... they would be far from home and in foreign lands. While Arthur was hesitant about sending even a small force of his men into such a situation, his advisors counseled him that if Deira falls, the warbands from the north would soon follow. With Saxons as an ever looming threat, and Morgana’s whereabouts currently unknown there was no room for a third theatre of war on an already full map.

Of course, his council didn't know that the letter that came from Deira had in fact been sent by the Warlock King that was rumoured to be roaming the lands north of Camelot with his bands of sorcerers and warriors. Omitting such a fact to the council, Gwaine had convinced his king, was the only way to get them to agree to his decision.

**o0o**

"That's it," Dagon said as he staggered to the side once he had climbed out of the shallow hole. He was caught by Sir Ollie and Sir Bevin of Camelot. "I can open the tunnel no more. The land fights me at every turn. I fear if I attempt it again, I will fall to slumber and never wake."

Ollie nodded as she handed him off to entirely to Bevin so that she may ladle out a cup of water for him. "Drink, sire. It will refresh you."

"I doubt it," he said. "But it'll have to do."

Elyan and Gwaine stood guard at the edge of the royal gardens, having watched the strange preparations the chief sorcerer underwent before opening the strange, mystical tunnel between the city and the outside world.

"Why is he standing in a hole of mud?"

Gwaine shrugged. He'd never seen anything of the like in his own travels before settling in Camelot. It was an odd practice indeed, to stand in a puddle of mud with one's bare feet and chant in strange tongues.

Then again if it worked...

"Need help?" Gwaine asked as Bevin came closer, the magical king's arm slung over one of his shoulders.

"Could you?" Bevin asked, hope in his eyes that he would be entirely relieved of his burden. Gwaine nodded and moved to the other side, lifting Dagon's arm and draping it across his shoulders so that the other knight may excuse himself. He wasn't a bad lad. He was a loyal knight and very good at what he did despite being so green. But he was also a product of Uther's Camelot, and such ideas and beliefs were hard to look past when they were all one had ever known. Gwaine on the other hand? His travels far and wide had shown him not only the evils that magic could bring, but the good as well. The healers and the growers and the simple and peaceful folk.

As expected, Sir Bevin soon scarpered and Gwaine waited for Sir Ollie to join them. Elyan followed behind as Ollie directed the visitors from Camelot to the Warlock King's chambers.

Gwaine memorized the path they took, and he was sure Elyan did the same. He was soon relieved of his burden as Ollie unlocked the chamber door. "Thank you for your assistance gentlemen, but I have his majesty from here."

"Just tell me where to put him," Gwaine said, adjusting his hold so that he carried more of the weight. Ollie eyed him a long moment before nodding and opening the door.

"In the chair by the hearth. I need to fetch some things from the antechamber before I put him to bed."

"Does this happen every time he uses magic?" Elyan asked as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Fishing for information on a potential enemy, Sir Elyan?" she asked with a raised brow before leaving through a door to the side.

Gwaine, meanwhile, hauled the man to the chair and dropped him down on it with a grunt. "Fuck you're heavy."

The man forced a smile. "Aye, and tired too," he said and it was clear by his voice he meant it. "And to answer Sir Elyan's question, no. Petty magic, like lighting a fire or warming water... That is simple. Easy. Clawing apart the earth, not so much. It is easier in Elmet, where my power is stronger, where I am bound to the magic of the land and it follows my will. Outside my lands... well..."

Ollie returned with a vial in hand. She uncorked it with her teeth and held it out for Dagon to take. "Drink," she commanded. "And then I'll wash you up and put you to bed."

**o0o**

It was another three months of fighting and defending the capital of Deira. Gwaine liked to think he got to know King Dagon pretty well in that time. Some of the knights from Camelot, while still wary of those with magic, no longer tried to avoid them when it was used in their presence. It was certainly easier to repair the damage to the city walls after repelling the Northumbrians threatening to finally come down upon them.

Rarely, however, did the knights of Camelot see the queen. She was always accompanied either by Sir Namon, her first Knight, or King Dagon. And always with her maidservant trailing behind them. It was the maid who always spoke on behalf of her queen, and none of the knights of Camelot understood why.

Not until Sir Gwaine had been assigned to accompany her into the southern quarter of her city so that those who remained knew their queen was still with them. That she had not abandoned them as many had feared. She rode in an open supply wagon with the rations she was determined to give out to her people with her own hands. She may not have been a warrior like her mother, but she was no less devoted to the service and well-being of her people. It was only because she knew of her cousin's cruelty that she had not yet given up her crown. For to Waldor the people were but slaves to his whims. Inconvenient but necessary tools he could use up and then throw away when he saw no more value in their lives.

Gwaine stood alert at her side as she passed out small cloth bags of grain from the royal stores. Small rounds of cheese that had been donated to the cause by some kindly farmers on the outside the last time the tunnel had been opened. Water was provided by underground springs beneath the castle, so all they really need to do is collect it and pass it out to help ease the burden on the city wells. She spoke not a word, but she smiled kindly to each and every one of her subjects. And she listened to their troubles attentively before turning to her maid and using her hands to convey... something. What he was not sure, but the maid would nod and then speak for her queen.

When they had departed back for the castle, the queen sat in the wagon with the empty chests that were to be refilled again to go out into the eastern side of the city the following day.

"Why doesn't she speak?" Gwaine had asked when he noticed the queen had fallen asleep.

The maid glanced back over her shoulder to the wagon behind her. "It is what started this terrible war," the woman said. "Nobles loyal to her cousin, the disowned Prince Waldor, arranged an assassination. According to the wife of one noble, the plan was to place the blame upon King Dagon and his knights. The queen, you see, had taken a fancy to him. Her position as queen was already... tenuous given the situation with Prince Waldor, and then there were his younger brothers who also desired the crown for their own."

"But the assassination failed."

"It did. The servant thought to catch the queen and King Dagon by surprise. He had not counted that King Dagon is armed at all times with one weapon or another. Before he could plunge the knife fully into my queen's throat, his majesty had drawn his blade and removed the servant's hand. He did what he could to keep her alive but the cost..."

"Scarring of the throat."

She nodded. "It destroyed the queen's voice entirely. The blade was enchanted to prevent the healing of wounds made with it. It took both the king and Sir Brig to heal the wound as well as they were able."

"And she speaks with her hands, using gestures?"

The woman nodded. "Sir Dagon taught them to us. A gesture for every letter so that she may spell out words. We have made up some of our own to shorten the time it takes to have a conversation. I am teaching Sir Namon to understand them, as well as some of the other servants closest to her majesty. Should something happen to me she will not be left without her voice to the people."

**o0o**

Four months after the arrival of the knights of Camelot it happened.

Before the enemy at their walls launched their final assault, there was a sort of electricity to the air all day. A strange buzzing that they couldn't quite describe other than to call it a foreboding sense of impending doom. The magical and non-magical alike felt it. This strange sense that it was the end. For some, the end of all things.

Relief from Bayard had yet to arrive, and the men were starting to despair that it never would. That they had been betrayed.

The troops that Camelot had claimed followed them from Nemeth still had yet to be spotted on the road to Deira. Hope, it seemed, was withering to a husk of what it once was.

And in this strange cloud of excitement and despair, Namon went to his queen and took position beside her throne, ready to protect his queen. Ready to protect the woman he loved.

Her maid sat in a plain chair beside her, and they waited for the inevitable.

**o0o**

"BREACH!" cried a man before he was mercilessly cut down from his place upon the walls of Stormholme Fortress itself. But his cry was not in vain as the call was taken up by those around him like a rallying cry for the fighting men who defended the queen and the last bastion of safety they had left.

But it was no use. The rope ladders came. And the siege engines had been pushed through the streets of the fallen city as the Northumbrians swept through it, led by the rebels of Prince Waldor and what remained of his elite soldiers.

The fighting lasted through the night and most of the following day. The only reprieve for the defenders of the castle had come when the sorcerers among them, led by the Warlock King, had cast a powerful enchantment to repel the invaders back to the outer walls through sheer force of will and magic.

The catch was that they had to remain in position, constantly casting and constantly draining themselves to fuel the barrier.

After the first two hours, the sorcerers began dropping from exhaustion, and the barrier weakened.

After the fourth, more fell, a few even dying as they refused to release themselves from the casting and gave up all of themselves to the barrier of protection for their fellow men and the innocents who could not escape the city.

The knights of Camelot could not deny the benefit of having sorcerers in their midst now, and yet the level of skill and power shown was a horrifying reminder that such power could be brought against them. Against Camelot.

The barrier was holding, but they knew not even the Warlock King of Elmet could hold it alone forever. And with each dropping sorcerer, that time was drawing ever closer.

**o0o**

Once the barrier was raised there was no going back.

The barrier was coming down. The only decision left to make was when. Should he push the last of what he had to give into it, or release it and still have enough energy left to grab his sword and fight. While it was often a decision he'd had to make when they were able to jump start some old electric fences, or given the choice between using the fuel they'd found for a generator to run a bunker or to power the rare working vehicles they had found so that they may put more distance between themselves and the Horde.

But never had Dagon been faced with such a decision where HE was the power source. Where HE was all that stood between death now and death later.

The decision, it seemed, was made for him when he caught sight of Prince Waldor on the other side of the breach. He gave the word then. And as green ringed blue eyes locked onto the attempted usurper he gave a mighty cry, using magic to force his voice to carry further. To echo louder than before.

"LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!" he cried, and with a thunderous crash the barrier came down and King Dagon and those few who remained at his side drew out their swords once more.

**o0o**

The sight that greeted the Mercians when they at last arrived at Stormholme was one of absolute carnage. Acrid black smoke filled the skies and the scent of blood in the air was so thick its metallic taste could be sensed on the tongue with every breath.

The streets ran red with blood. Mutilated bodies littered the streets the further the soldiers rode into the ruined city before they ever reached the castle proper. And when they did there were the unmistakable sounds of battle.

"To arms!" the Mercian general cried out. "To war!"

"To war!" his men chanted as they threw themselves forward, charging into the battle that lay ahead of them.

The Mercian relief forces had finally arrived, and soon those defenders of the castle heard the mighty call of the war horns that signaled help had come.

**o0o**

It had been hours since the barrier had come down. And now Dagon stood, exhausted but not defeated, with Prince Waldor at his feet. The usurper was bound on his knees before his cousin, the rightful queen.

When Dagon had gotten the opportunity he challenged him for the first time since their meeting and Waldor's defeat in the village near the border. Goading him at every clash of steel and every blow in an attempt at distraction. To cause him to make a fatal mistake. Such a mistake had led to Dagon stabbing the man through the shoulder, forcing him to drop his sword to the crimson mud at their feet.

"What is to be done with him, your majesty?" Dagon asked. Waldor spat at his cousin, blood mixed with saliva splattering against her pale skin and white dress.

She smiled, and it was a thing of utter cruelty. She stood from her throne then and did not bother to use the signs her dear friend had taught her. No, this traitor to her rule deserved to hear the fruits of his labor. He deserved to see she was damaged, but not utterly broken.

Queen Norah reached into the sleeve of her dress and before any of the knights could react she had crouched down and buried the knife in her cousin's throat. She twisted it as his eyes widened in horror. As blood poured over her hand and stained her dress further, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his ear. What was said, no one would ever know, for the queen has no voice but her maid. And now any challenger to her throne would think twice before attempting to take her down.

Later, as servants were carrying out the body of the dead usurper, Dagon couldn't help but notice the knife sticking out of the man's throat. It had the same enchanted sapphire in the handle as the one that had been used against her majesty at the start of the war.

**o0o**

The army from Nemeth had been waylaid in Camelot by Saxons prowling the borders between Camelot and her neighbors to the east. The supplies they carried with them to relieve the people of Deira and it's besieged capital were stolen or destroyed. It took time for King Arthur to find and collect excesses and surplus. He had to ensure by donating more to the cause he was not leaving his own kingdom short. He told his council, and his people it was a mission of mercy and not one of war so that Camelot's treaty with Northumbria would not TECHNICALLY be broken by his actions.

By the time the men sent by King Rodor and his daughter Mithian arrived in the kingdom of Deira, the fighting in the capital had ceased, but the war for the lands north of Stormholme was ongoing.


	8. The Divergent Path of Destiny

A year had passed before the knights sent to Deira returned to the shining city of Camelot.  What had been twenty men were now four.

After the siege had been broken and Stormholme Fortress freed from the clutches of Prince Waldor's rebellion and the Northumbrians, messengers had been sent across southern Albion. One to Mercia to thank Bayard for his aid, for they had arrived at a most dire moment to aid their allies to the north and without them, Deira's queen would be dead. Two went to Camelot, one sent by Queen Norah herself, and another sent by the knights with a report of their time in the capital... and surprisingly a request to remain for a while longer to help in the process of rebuilding. Of course, helping to rebuild wasn't all they intended to do.  


It was clear by Sir Bevin's report, Merlin had said when he looked it over in Arthur and Gwen's chambers the day after it had been received, that the experience had changed him.

When the knights had returned home, weary but victorious, they were allowed to rest a full day before Arthur summoned them for a private meeting.

The men who had died would be honored. Their families, if they had any, compensated for their losses.

By the end of the meeting it was clear Arthur was not happy with the state of things. And while his men had reported that the sorcerers they were made to work beside were good men and women, brave and loyal to a fault... their power was terrifying. Despite their goodness and their honor, they were every bit the danger Uther had claimed their kind to be. Evil? Some were, as even among those without magic could be evil. But they were strong, they were powerful, and they did not hesitate to bring their power to bear when they were pissed off. But most of all many who survived the war lived in Elmet... a kingdom that shared a border with Camelot.

_"Fuck Lord Eldred! Fuck the Northumbrians!"_ Sir Bevin was heard to exclaim by one of the servants passing the king and queen's private chambers. _"It's King Dagon you've got to not piss off! Sire, this man ripped the very earth apart to create a tunnel in and out of the city by sheer force of will alone!"_

And so the stories went. When Gwaine would get drunk and start telling the stories of what he had witnessed. Tales of the battles he fought in the north. He was particularly fond of one which had claimed that when the Warlock King drew his sword after releasing the magical shield, he had roared like a dragon and his sword was consumed by mystical flame. It was a lie, of course. The sword didn't catch flame until the Battle of Fey Rock, and it wasn't even the king's sword. It was the sword of Sir Brig, who had coated her sword in oil and with liquor on her breath chanted a spell for fire and breathed it upon the blade to spook the Northumbrians for laughs.

But it didn't matter if it was truth or fiction. Tongues wagged. Stories were told over drinks. And the tales of the Warlock King and his band of druid knights spread across Camelot and into the lands beyond.

**o0o**

In Elmet, things were not as pleasant. Dagon and those who survived the war in Deira had little reprieve before they rode off to war once more.

A month after the king's return to Kingstown, which had expanded in his absence, the northern border was at last breached by King Umber's forces from Rheged.

This time, his knights knew, there would be slaughter. Their king was kind. He was merciful and compassionate. He ruled with respect and honor.

But the war in Deira had shown them all what the man was truly capable of.

And now?

Now he had the fullness of his magic at his command. He had slept on his own soil and walked bare of feet in his own gardens. His land welcomed him back, and he reveled in it. he was refreshed. Recharged. And ready to open the gates of hell if that is what it took to ensure peace for his kingdom.

**o0o**

Patrols from the northern borders had increased, and for the first time in years when the riders of Camelot stood at the furthest edge of the northern plains, they did not see a land of darkness and terror. A dead wasteland separated by a gorge and crossed only by a singular bridge.

They saw a fertile, lush land. Forests and green even in a time of year that such should have been impossible. As it snowed on one side of the gorge, it seemed as if eternal summer lay on the opposite. It was obvious that sorcery was used to keep the land in such a state.

The implications of such a sight to the people still feeling the effects of Uther's reign long after his death were apparent. Fear. Horror. Terror. And at any moment, the sorcerers could cross that singular bridge and force their evils upon the land of Camelot.

**o0o**

Morgana was enraged.

She found entry to this supposed refuge for her kind blocked to her. She had tried many ways and many paths to gain entry. Rumours of the mighty Warlock King had reached her after her escape from Sarrum of Amata and she sought a... mutually beneficial agreement that would see him support her claim to Camelot and the freedom they enjoyed spread to the rest of all Albion. She sought to use his power and army of mages to overthrow Arthur... but found she could not enter the lands of magic. A land that, in her crazed mind, she believed should welcome her. For she was a high priestess of the Old Religion.

Morgana should be welcomed as a savior to the people!

"And yet here you are, stuck outside the paradise of Elmet."

"Quiet, you worm!" she hissed at the dwarfish creature that had appeared to her more than once after her failed attempts to gain entry.

"There is no place for Darkness in the kingdom of the Warlock King," he said, not for the first time.

But with an angry screech and a ball of flame, it would unfortunately be the last.

And with the death of Grettir, the Gatekeeper of Elmet, the protective magic that had stood for centuries around the land of the magical kings came thundering down.

Just as Grettir had spent centuries waiting for. But Morgana Pendragon would find that while she could at last enter the land of magic... the magic of the land was finally set free.

**o0o**

Dagon felt it when the protections on Elmet fell. Yet he could do little about it as he and Brig fought, back to back, against the Knights of Gododdin who had come on behalf of King Umber to retake Rheged from the renegade Warlock King.

He was too busy to notice that the strain on his magic he felt when outside his own lands... had eased. That the link was no longer stretched taut.

**o0o**

Merlin dropped the tray he had been holding for Gaius when he felt the rush of magic up his spine.

He had been looking north when it happened. The sudden heat that he had felt beneath his feet. The static in the air as magic rolled across the land. It wrapped around him. Teasing him. Testing him, before rolling onward across Camelot.

"Merlin!" Gauis exclaimed, and the moment was broken. The man dropped to the floor to pick up the tray and collect the broken bottles of medicines. "I'm so sorry, Gaius," he said. "I don't know what happened. I must have been distracted," he said as he tried to clean up the mess, eyes downcast so he wouldn't have to see those overly expressive eyebrows silently asking him questions he couldn't answer outside their private quarters.

**o0o**

The head of King Umber and those of five of his seven sons sat upon pikes at the gates of Castle Caenleigh.

The remaining sons were led in chains to the throne room.

"What did I fucking tell you about using the damn chains, Sir Derwent! They're ten at most!"

"Eleven," one of the boys said. "Sire."

"I'm not your king, boy. Which one of you was born first?"

Neither of the identical boys spoke. Dagon sighed and stood from the throne. "Alright then, here's how this is going to work. Rheged needs a king. But right now the only ones that can rule are eleven years old. All of your elder brothers are dead. Your father is dead. Your mother-"

"Dead?"

"No. She is unharmed, but scared for her sons, as any mother should be. As she was your father's wife at the time he was killed, and she is the mother of the only remaining heirs to his throne, it has been agreed that she will rule your kingdom until you are old enough to do so yourself. Do you understand?"

They said nothing.

"One of you will be taken to Stormholme Fortress to live with my friend Queen Norah for a time. The other will come to Elmet with me and live in the royal household until he is old enough to return home."

"No!" they finally cried, one clinging to the other.

Dagon rubbed at his eyes, feeling a headache coming on. "Take them to their mother. She'll make them understand."

**o0o**

It was a compromise.

The king of Gododdin had been slain in battle by Sir Ollie, and the man's wife immediately pulled their troops from Rheged. In return she had one demand; her sister the current queen of Rheged be allowed to live, as well as her two sons. Dagon did not expect to learn that King Umber's cruelty was not limited to how he ruled his kingdom, but was most prevalent in his family. His current wife had been literally stolen from Gododdin, which had forced them to ally or Lady Jayne would be raped by King Umber's hunting beasts before she would be killed and her head sent back to her sister in a box.

The queen of Gododdin swore allegiance to Dagon to save the life of her sister and nephews, and vowed never to take up arms against him again. At the insistence of Dagon’s Seer the pact was not only made on paper as all common treaties must, but sealed with magic to prevent treachery and deceit.

Jayne would be crowned Queen Regent, with her two sons taken to Deira and Elmet. The elder to train under the watchful eyes of Queen Norah and her new husband, Prince Consort Namon. The younger, the Seventh Son, was to be taken to Elmet where he would learn magic and science. Knowledge he could take home and put to use in helping his older brother rule the kingdom justly and fairly.

But this would also keep the boys out of the hands of those who would seek revenge for King Umber. It was as much for their protection as it was to keep the kingdom of Rheged from falling to civil war.

**o0o**

The magic of Elmet was hostile to her at every turn. She had never experienced anything like it before. As she traveled across the kingdom that had once been the Perilous Lands, she found her own magic weakening more and more. Her spells were less effective. Her visions when she slept were more violent and strange. Odd contraptions made of metal soared through the skies in them. There were loud, fast explosions. One right after another.

But she pressed on.

Morgana would not be denied.

**o0o**

Dagon stood from his throne with a sigh. Since his return from the wars in the north, he'd had this nagging feeling that something was amiss in the land of Elmet. Something he couldn't quite find. And so he had arranged with Sir Ollie to run the kingdom in his absence as he and Brig sought out the Throne of Earth. The oaken throne that had grown as a result of his first binding to the land. Each throne gave him a different path to insight. The Throne of Air, made of stone and in the mountains, was one he had not returned to since the last binding. The idea that he could see through the eyes of Arthur as he sat upon it was enough to put him off the idea.

The Throne of Water, which resided at the waterfall cave, allowed him to look into the ebb and flow of the magic of his land. It was where he would go if he sought to heal himself and the land in times of need or distress.

The Throne of Earth was where his ability to communicate with the land was strongest. Where he could detect, with pinpoint accuracy, anyone or anything in the land that he wished. Each of these insights he could glean from the throne in his tower, but sometimes it wasn't enough. Sometimes, he needed more direct methods.

**o0o**

It was with delight that the druids welcomed their clan members back home to the grove. A feast was had and stories were told. It took some time before Prince Lyle, who had accompanied them on the trip, had allowed himself to relax. Especially when a pretty druid girl gave him a slice of special cake her mother had made for the King and his companions.

Brig thought it was adorable, watching the king's ward interacting with children his own age for a change. She had a feeling that until they had brought him to Elmet, the poor child only had his twin brother for company.

When the fires had burned low and the children chased off to bed, Dagon met with the elders of the clan about his concerns and what brought him to visit.

"We have heard stories of a witch," one man said. "Garbed in black and green rags, cutting down all that stand in her way as she seeks an audience with the Warlock King."

"Morgana..." he said. "How? The protections on the land have held her at bay. How has she come into these lands now?"

"The protections have fallen, sire. I am surprised you did not feel them when they shattered. All with magic felt it."

"I was fighting a war in the north. If I felt it, then it was masked by adrenaline and battle."

The elders spoke quietly among themselves before deciding that at dawn, they would send scouts to the borders to investigate and the warriors who kept the peace would be told of the new developments.

Dagon sat on the oaken throne all night searching for the wrongness in his kingdom until, at last, he found it.

Just outside a little village with a shrine to the Old Religion.

The moment she was found he went to the tent set up for their visit and roused Brig from her slumber. "At dawn," he said. "Take Lyle and return to Kingstown. Take a few extra sword arms with you."

"And where will you be?"

"Getting rid of my sister."

"Not alone you're not."

"Yes I am. And you will be wise to listen to your king. If I leave now, I might be able to stop her from killing again. But I must go alone and take the faster horse."

"You are NOT taking Silver."

"It's the only way I'll make it in time."

**o0o**

The villagers did not know who she was. For these people had settled here from the north, not the south.

They only saw a weary and devoted woman of the Old Religion. A woman who called herself a high priestess and blessed them when they brought her to the shrine to the goddess.

When the king himself thundered into their village, stopping in the center and shouting for all to hear to hand over the fugitive witch Morgana of Camelot, they then understood why the woman was so hesitant to give her name.

The villagers had no idea how close they had come to death that day had the king not come to intercept the dread witch. For though her magic was weakened in the land of Elmet, her resolve was stronger and she had no reservations about using her own hands to do the dark deeds that fueled her magic here in a land where magic itself rejected her.

Morgana screamed as the magic she wielded, fueled by blood and death of those who crossed her path was snuffed out by the the simple, petty earth magic of King Dagon.

She was held in a cage of stone, much like Prince Waldor had been at the end of their first conflict. A young woman was selected from the villagers to run to the nearest fort and rouse the garrison. She was to tell them that the king required an escort for a prisoner, and preferred those strong in the magic of battle.

**o0o**

"You waste your power here, hiding behind your magic walls."

"Do I? I hadn't noticed. I've been too busy flexing my magical muscles across all of Middle Albion it seems for the last few years," Dagon said as he sat on a wooden stool that had been brought out to him. His sword was out, and he had his whetstone in hand. Might as well do something useful while he sat and waited for backup to arrive.

"I've heard," Morgana said, long fingers wrapped around the stone bars of her small cell. "I also heard you slipped into Camelot entirely unnoticed. Slept in the same castle as the king himself."

"Aye, I did," he replied, affecting the speech patterns and accenting he picked up in his time living among the druids in Mercia.  


"So why didn't you kill him?"

"Do I look like an idiot to you?" he said. "Or has dabbling in the dark magics addled your mind so that there is no reason left in that gorgeous head of yours?"

"You had the perfect chance to kill Arthur Pendragon, enemy of magic and the Old Religion!"

"I think you've got the wrong Pendragon. Uther was an utter bastard, I'll give you that." He ran the stone down his blade a few more times in thought. "But Arthur? No. Arthur is no enemy of magic, nor an enemy of mine. You blame the son for his father's crimes."

"He refuses to lift the ban on magic-"

"Aye. Because his people fear it still. Once again, a crime of the father you place on the son. Give him time to see the good magic can bring and he will begin the path to change we seek," he said. "But I fear it's more than that to you. You want the throne."

"It should be mine!"

Dagon shook his head and sighed, then continued to sharpen his blade. "I can tell a lot about a person by the look in their eye," he lied. "You were a good person once. And I am sorry for all the pain that has driven you here to seek my power. But I'll not help you depose your brother. My loyalties lie with a stronger power than you or I."

"Are you afraid?"

"Of Arthur Pendragon? No. So long as he keeps to his side of the border and I to mine, we've no quarrel. But it's Emrys I fear," he said, his words trailing off at the end as he forced himself to ignore the rising visions of war and blood in a time far beyond this one. Where the same madness he saw in the woman that was his sister had taken root and flourished in the mind of one he had loved and cherished more than his own wife. More than his crown and his father and even the memory of his mother.

And it was a terrifying reminder of why he had come here. Morgana swore under her breath at the name of her greatest enemy. And Dagon finally set his sword aside. "In another life, I'd have run you through on my sword, Morgana Pendragon. I would do so with great regret, but not with a single moment's hesitation if only to end your reign of terror right here and right now."

"Then why don't you?"

"Because I cannot fight against fate. I can try and fail to convince you that what you're doing is wrong. That you've lost yourself to the darkness and the evils that Uther had warned everyone about. But nothing can nor will sway you from your destiny. It is not by my hand your death comes. It's Emrys who will strike that final blow. As it has been foretold for ages of the past and will be praised by many a bard in the ages to come. It is only my great regret that my own destiny is to stand back and watch it unfold."

**o0o**

When Morgana was taken to the southern border of Elmet, to the northern plains of Camelot, it was with little fanfare. As expected, once she had crossed the border, her magic was returned to her and she struck out at the men who had come to escort her out of the kingdom personally.

To add insult to injury, there was a mighty cry from an outcrop nearby, and fire rained down upon the knights. Dagon, realizing what it was that had been patiently waiting for them to bring its mistress raised his sword into the flames of the dragon's breath. He was not one to turn away from an opportunity for advantage, especially one as fortuitous as this.

When Morgana had been chased off with her crippled white dragon, the knights of Elmet remained at the border to secure it as the King began the long journey back to Kingstown alone, his sword still radiating the power laid upon it from the dragon's breath.

**o0o**

Morgana eventually returned to the borders of Elmet with a band of Saxon mercenaries at her back to discover a garrison of druid warriors waiting for her. Spears and swords and arrows trained on her and her men across the gorge. Daring the bastards to come across.

And when they dared, because the witch Morgana would not be denied, it was in vain. For the moment they set foot on Elmet soil, the earth itself parted, and snake-like vines wrapped around her hired soldiers and dragged them into the ground without a trace.

"If you wish to lose more men, feel free to come sidling back up to our borders again ya old haggard wench!" one druid warrior shouted across the gorge at the enraged sorceress.

**o0o**

Morgana would attempt twice more to gain entry to Elmet without success.

By the time of her final attempt, the royal scholars at the university had found a way to replace the barrier that had once protected the kingdom. They dug deep into the libraries and deeper still into the secret lore of Elmet from the ages before the fall. Far and wide scholars traveled, consulting high priestesses and bog witches alike.

At last, an answer was found. And it was one that the king did not find acceptable.

"We are not barbarians," he had said to the men and women who had presented him with the solution they had discovered. "We will not lower ourselves to committing such crimes against nature. Even if we were to gather those who were willing, we will not sacrifice a single life. We will find another way."

"Sire, there is no other way."

"Then we will make one!" he exclaimed angrily, rising from his chair at the table with so much force it fell to the stone floor behind him. "The protections on this kingdom will not rely on death magic! We will not sacrifice a single man, woman, or child!

"The laws of magic are quite clear-"

"Then I will rewrite them!"

"The price of such powerful magic is quite clear, sire! It is the way of the Old Religion!"

"Then I reject the Old Religion! And the New Religion! I care not what my people worship, nor how they conduct themselves in private, but I will not stand for human sacrifice in this land! A life will not be traded for a life, be it a criminal or a king! We will find another way to raise the protections that were lost!"

While many chose to give up the search for a solution after the disastrous meeting, it was a visiting scholar who had quietly requested an audience with the king so that he may give his ideas on the matter. The others had rejected them outright, but he felt they had merit. If only just enough to allow him to look further.

The audience was granted, and after hearing what the man had to say, Dagon was intrigued.

"Stones, your majesty," he had said. "Engraved with ancient runes of protection and then buried in the earth at the borders of the kingdom. Spaced out every so many miles. Once every five years they would need to be dug up and the magic recast, but they need not be dug up all at once. And if spaced wisely, it may be possible to assign different groups along the border to watch over the rune stones and recast them as needed."

"On what do you base this information?"

"On my own experiences, your majesty," he said. "It is how King Cenred protected his castle and why it could never be breached until after his death. King Lot does not know about the rune stones of protection around the castle, and does not know that the magic must be recast."

Dagon looked to Brig, then to Ollie. Neither woman had an opinion on the matter. "I would like you to write down everything about this and submit it to my manservant. I would like my advisors to look over your idea and, if it has merit, I will ensure that you have what you need to experiment and prove that this could work without the loss of life."

"Thank you sire!" the man had exclaimed in surprise.

After Dagon was shown proof that the idea could work on a small scale, he instructed that it be tested on the great court of Kingstown, where they routinely held trials and public meetings. When it was again proven a success, the plan was put into action.

When Morgana had made her final attempt to storm into Elmet, she lost one fifth of her army to the barrier, the men scorched to ash thrown back into the gorge. With winter coming, she was forced to retreat to Camelot's northern plains. With the kingdom of magic closed to her, and the Warlock King's refusal to aid those of their kind beyond his borders, Morgana added him to her ever growing list of enemies and turned her attentions back to Arthur.

And the magic of Elmet, the force of nature that had been held back by Grettir's ancient barrier, continued to flow freely through Albion unchecked. For Dagon had held strongly to his belief that the barrier need not be tainted with the death of innocents and stained with the blood of children as the ancient kings and queens of Elmet had so erroneously believed.

**o0o**

King Bayard's second son was to be wed. And while it was not exactly the big celebration of a Crown Prince's wedding, the bride to be was the Princess of Bernicia, enemy of the Northumbrians.

And an enemy of the enemy is a friend.

After having proved himself a valuable ally during the war in Deira, Dagon was invited to witness the continued forging of alliances of the North.

What Dagon did not know when he and his Elite rode out to fanfare and celebration was that King Arthur and his wife had also received an invitation. For this event was of the new destiny taking shape, not the old.

**o0o**

The guest quarters assigned to the contingent from Camelot had a lovely view of the open courtyard of Nightwell Hold. And from it Gwen and occasionally Merlin would stand and gaze out at the arriving nobles in the days that followed their own arrivals.

It wasn't Gwen's first official outing to a neighboring kingdom as queen. But she didn't like leaving Camelot without either herself or Arthur to rule her. Leon did a fine job, as First Knight it was his duty to run the kingdom when both the king and queen could not. But normally that was a duty foisted upon him due to one or both of them suffering illness and not, as Merlin had put it, for some silly wedding of a second born son to a princess from a kingdom of savages.

But Arthur had shown her the invitation. Bayard insisted that both attend or not to bother at all.

"Our diplomatic ties to Mercia have been strained for some time," Arthur had said of the matter. "If I were to refuse this simple request, then it could very well start a war we cannot afford to have. The wars with Mercia ended when I was four. Camelot had not fully recovered until ten years later. I will not thrust my people into another war with Bayard if I can avoid it."

Gwen was glad he had guilted her into agreeing though, for the ride to Mercia had been lovely. And the trip had filled her husband with a vigor she rarely saw. As king he could no longer go out on the adventures he used to take with Merlin and the knights. His first instinct was to ride out to meet any challenge to the crown, but since he was made king... he had to choose even those wisely. But to see him as he used to be, riding tall in his saddle among the knights as she rode in the carriage with her maids, she could not deny that she needed the trip just as much as he did.

Now, she stood at the window of their chambers as Arthur sat to the side, reading through documents that Bayard had presented to him the day after their arrival. A revised treaty, which had been the reason Bayard wanted them to arrive before all others if possible.

She watched the colorful banners of Kent as the prince and princess arrived in their gilded carriage. "It seems as if all of the South has come to Mercia to celebrate this marriage," she said. "Or at least representatives."

"Have you read this?" Arthur said, sitting back in his chair with an annoyed look.

"I've skimmed it."

"He wants to legalize magic in Mercia, but keep it restricted."

"They have the same system in Nemeth," Gwen said as she turned from the window now. She glanced at her maids. "Please, leave us."

"Yes ma'am," the two girls said, giving a curtsy before hurrying from the room. Once the door was closed, she smiled softly and moved to stand behind his chair, placing a hand on each shoulder.

"What is this really about, Arthur?"

He nodded to the paper. "Read it. This is the version he gave me after breakfast this morning after our talks yesterday."

Leaning forward over his right shoulder she took up the paper and read through it quickly. "I see."

"I cannot sign this."

"Then don't."

"If I don't, Camelot is no longer allied with Mercia. We risk-"

"Then sign it."

"And by doing so allow any sorcerer claiming to be of Mercia free passage through Camelot unchecked and unhindered, whether they are from Mercia or not."

Gwen sighed. "Then tell him you need more time to think it over. Talk with Merlin. Talk with the Nemeth delegation. Talk with Merlin."

"But they are not you. They don't rule Camelot beside me."

She smiled and bent again to give him a kiss to his temple. "Arthur, as your queen, the woman you chose to sit at your side, I'm telling you what I think. Speak with the representatives from Nemeth. Ask them how they regulate the use of magic in their kingdom. And before you sign that treaty, make note of what you've told me. Bring to Bayard's attention the difficult position he puts you into. This is a test of your resolve, my love. And a test of your character. Bayard hasn't been executing or imprisoning sorcerers for years. The treaty your father forged with him was broken ages ago." She gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze. "I believe Bayard wants to see how you would handle such a situation as you've described. Not because he intends to push for such an allowance, but to get an insight into your personal views on the matter of magic without your father's influence. This is your chance to make a new treaty. One with the values and changes YOU feel are for the betterment of your people."

Arthur considered her words as she bent down to kiss his temple again, but instead caught his lips when he turned his face quickly to her. The surprise was pleasant, and when their mouths parted he was smiling up at her. A calloused hand reached up and he cupped her cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. "That," he said. "Is one of the many reasons I chose you."

"So it wasn't just for my soft skin and big, beautiful eyes?"

"I like your hair, too," he said with a mischievous smile. "How long until we're required to join the rest for dinner?"

"Hours yet, my lord," she barely managed to get out before he had claimed her mouth again.

**o0o**

Dinner was not a feast, but it was still quite an affair. The feasting, Bayard had said, was being saved for the wedding celebration. But he wished for his guests to all join him and his sons for the evening, for there was still some of their number yet to arrive and given most of those in attendance were of the South... His advisors had cautioned him to warn them before the Northern delegations arrived over the following few days.

Merin paid close attention to conversation at the King of Mercia's table that night. With a gathering of that many nobles and royals from all across Albion both north and south, there was bound to be trouble brewing. There was just a feeling that he couldn't quite explain as his magic bubbled just below the surface.

He resolved himself to sneak out during the night, and summon the dragon.

Unfortunately, he didn't get the opportunity, as Arthur had volunteered him to help the servants of the castle with arrangements for the upcoming wedding.

**o0o**

There was safety in numbers, the Northerners knew specially in lands they did not know nor had many allies near. They chose not to travel alone for much of the journey. That was why they were the last to arrive. They traveled in a pack, but the closer they got to Nightwell Hold they broke back into their individual components again. Even then, the order of arrival was strategic for protection. Prince Consort Namon and the Queen's Ward, Prince Rowan of Rheged, arrived first with a small company of the Queen's Guard. One of their weakest paired with one of their strongest. Behind them came the nobles of Gododdin and two of the seven Clan Chiefs of Strathclyde.

It was an odd assortment the nobles of the south saw arriving at Bayard's castle, that was certain. Merlin was reminded of the men of Annis's lands, only stockier built and with many more pelts and leather on their person. Their swords were broader, their armor odder.

The day after the arrivals from Gododdin and Strathclyde brought the Crown Prince of Bernicia, his knights riding in formation with another group from a kingdom that so far had been unaccounted for.

The magical knights of Elmet.

In the courtyard each day the royal family of Mercia met their guests. And each day more and more eyes peered from the windows of the castle to catch glimpses of the strange parties from foreign lands.

With each new arrival, Merlin's anxiety grew.

**o0o**

Dagon was pleased to see that his chambers were to his liking. he was given a nice suite of rooms next to those of the Prince Consort of Deira as he had requested in his letters. The the twin princes, Rowan and Lyle, were overjoyed to see one another again and safe for when their presence was required, had scurried off to catch up and spend time together. Ollie had been assigned to keep an eye on them along with a guard from the knights of Deira.

The king of Elmet had avoided Arthur as much as possible, but the day before the wedding was to take place, it could not be avoided. Not if he wished to spend time outside his chambers. It seemed as if everywhere he went, Arthur was just arriving or just leaving. It was, frankly, quite irritating.

Eventually he was able to shake off the king of Camelot who, honestly, wasn't intentionally seeking him out. Dagon had lied to Bayard stating that he needed to slip into the forest near the castle, for there was a spring nearby that was sacred to his people and he would be eternally grateful if he would be allowed to ride out there during the new moon and perform a blessing for the land and for his son's marriage.

Knowing the reputation of the Warlock King, Bayard would have considered himself a fool for refusing such a gift. For he had heard what the blessings of the land had done in Elmet. Who hadn't? The land was dead and now it was alive and thriving. If he could have the same, then who was he to refuse?

After taking supper that evening in his chambers with Ollie and Lyle, and hosting Rowan and his guard as well, Dagon slipped out of the castle and took his horse out into the forest. He had no true destination in mind, just the need to be alone and free for even a few hours.

Unknown to him at the time, another had snuck away through a different gate and roamed the same forest that night in search of a clearing large enough to suit his purpose.

**o0o**

Merlin had learned of a clearing from the servants of the castle. A place where many of them would escape to for a picnic from time to time. From what he'd been told, it had seemed like the perfect place to call forth Kilgharrah and seek his counsel. He followed the directions he'd managed to get, and stumbled in the dark, cursing that the only night he seemed to be free to do this was one with no moonlight to see by.

Eventually he found the clearing after being turned around twice and hiding behind a large rock a few times as a cloaked rider went past him. The sight of the rider, more than once even, made him feel conflicted. On the one hand he suspected there was a sinister plot afoot. On the other hand... he didn't want to get caught using magic. Not so far from home. Then again home had that pesky ban of magic that would see him dead if he was caught. But Mercia?... The way things were going probably not. But he would not be able to return to Camelot with Arthur. And without Arthur... he was nothing but a farm boy from Ealdor.

He listened closely to the forest around the clearing, then when he felt it was safe, he looked up to the sky and gave a roaring cry, pushing the magic into his voice as he commanded the mighty dragon to come to his lord.

**o0o**

Dagon froze when he heard the roar echoing through the forest. Warmth washed over him, but it was odd in the manner of which it came. As if falling upon him from the side and spreading across. It was strange, the feeling left in its wake. A sort of prickling of wrongness that he could not place. Pressing his hand against the nearest tree and concentrating he frowned. Quickly he took off his boots and tied them to his horse. Bare of feet, he touched the tree again, this time crouching down to be closer to the roots. With bare feet touching the earth, he concentrated again. This time in an attempt to connect with the magic of the land.

While not hostile it was not as welcoming as he would have liked. Yet not as... stubborn as that of Deira.

The words that came out of his mouth were not of the common tongue, nor of the words of power that many sorcerers favored. They were words in a tongue not yet mutated from the ancient languages of Albion. These, Dagon had learned, were HIS words of power and magic in this strange yet familiar world. And his alone.

"Show me," he commanded when the magic of the land fought him. "Test me. I mean no harm. Show me the poison. I will heal it if I can."

His eyes flew open, rings of green clouding the blue as he saw through the magic of the land of Mercia. Through the eyes of a bird at the edge of a clearing.

It took a few moments to adjust, for he had never done this before and simply acted on instinct.

The bird flew off, and his perspective changed. Closer to the ground. Closer to the man in the clearing and the large beast to which he spoke in a tongue Dagon did not know.

"This is the poison?" he asked, knowing the answer would not come to him in words. But through the eyes of the little mammal, a rat, he could see the Darkness that enveloped the beast, and the simple manservant who was a beacon of gold in the night.

The rat scurried away, and he saw through the eyes of another bird, from another angle. The dragon was speaking, and with each strange roar tendrils of its poison reached out, warping and twisting around King Arthur's most loyal of servants.

And then the dragon was gone and Merlin was alone.

But the Darkness, that same vile poison he had sensed on Morgana in Elmet, remained.

When Dagon came back to himself he mounted his horse and turned back towards the castle. The poison would not linger in the forest nor the clearing. Of that he was certain. The dragon had its hooks deep in Merlin, and it was to him the power of its poisoned words would cling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have finished and edited. I've a busy week ahead so there might not be anything more until Wednesday or Thursday.  
> And for anyone confused, we're just now approaching the 5th series. This is not long before the first patrols go missing near Ismere and Gwaine is sent with Percival and some knights to go check things out.


End file.
